


A Red King Bowed

by eri_quin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sansa Stark, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Got It?, Hers, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I know that much :D, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Not Ashamed, Infidelity, It's Her House Now, Of...sorts?, Quote: I've got red in my ledger; I'd like to wipe it out., Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sansa Takes Over House Bolton, That Is Roose Endgame MMKAY???, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, but he gets his, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eri_quin/pseuds/eri_quin
Summary: Roose Bolton realized his bastard son had gotten the better prize. But Sansa Stark was wasted on him and perhaps Roose was greedy enough to take her for himself.Sansa? Sansa is a survivor and she knows the father is better than the son.Then again, maybe it takes a Queen to lay rest the rivalry between the Winter and Red Kings...And Sansa thought -if Twyin Lannister had The Mountain, Joffrey his Kingsguard, and even Ramsay his hounds...If she could have her own monster, then maybe she could find some peace.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton & Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton & Roose Bolton & Sansa Stark, Roose Bolton/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Walda Frey
Comments: 81
Kudos: 234





	1. So Many Keys to These Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Feel Me by Mecca Kalani (aka the theme song XD)

Roose Bolton was a man who would do what he needed to achieve results. "A Peaceful Land, A Quiet People" was what he wanted to adhere to and he had thought he'd been able to do that.

The resistance, though not overt, against his current reign as Warden of the North was expected but not to this extent.

He felt older than he was —hair graying faster than he could blink his eyes. His body, though he refused to think much less admit it, was aching more and more, and the stress of it all hampered his ability to think and scheme as he was used to.

He had thought by having his bastard marry the Stark girl, he would be more accepted and his rule become smoother and firmly in place. How wrong he'd been —if anything, it had simply made things more hostile against him.

He wasn't unaware of the strong lingering Stark loyalty, but he had yet to ferret them out.

But…

Speaking on the marriage of his bastard and Sansa Stark, he felt another type of frustration in him. Anger even.

That damned bastard of his —nothing Roose had imparted on him stayed. He had told him the girl was _precious_. She was considered the Jewel of the North, a beauty he had no trouble admiring and admitting to.

It galled him, the thought of it. He wasn't unaware that his bastard had gotten the better prize. _The Key to the North_ as Tywin Lannister persisted in calling her before his death, and her importance in the scheme of things was only compounded by the utter, devastating beauty she'd been blessed with.

_And his idiot bastard abused and treated her like trash._

She was wasted on Ramsay. Though Roose had done what Robb Stark could not, stuck to his word and married a Frey (and managed to squeeze a generous amount of coinage in the process), he wasn't a blind man.

He had been satisfied with the arrangement and Walda Frey had earned him what he needed and wanted out of it. He hadn't even minded bedding the girl, if only because her reactions to him and his ministrations were pleasing to him and he'd even grown fond of her because of that.

But Lady Sansa was _entrancing_.

There was just something about her that pulled him in like nothing else, and that his bastard was able to have her grated on him. _More so_ when he knew that Ramsay did not treat the Lady as she deserved.

As he would have treated her, if _he'd_ been her husband.

But…then again, Roose was greedy enough that he would — _could_ still take her for himself.

~⸹⸹⸹~

His steps seemed to echo loudly as he walked towards his destination. He didn't particularly wanted anyone to know where he was going, but he wasn't hiding it either.

Part of him didn't care if Ramsay knew. The other part wanted the discretion, if only to spare any retaliation on the young woman he was visiting upon. Although, he was sure that Ramsay had already left her rooms.

It was just as well though, that he ran across one of the handmaids assigned to Lady Sansa. She looked to be carrying items that would be used for a bath and he intercepted her.

"You there," he grabbed her attention, causing the girl to frighten and look at him terrified. "Are those for Lady Sansa?"

"Y-yes, milord," she stuttered.

"Hand them over," he ordered and dismissed her quickly after.

He continued his way then, deciding he'd received a perfect opportunity. Not wasting time, he reached Lady Sansa's door and easily made his way in, seeking her out. To his luck, it wasn't hard to find her —she was already in the prepared bath, alone and bare to his eyes.

She was even more beautiful, despite her curled up figure. Her long curtain of fiery hair looked like burnished copper, darkened from the water and highlighted by the light of the fires burning near the tub. Her porcelain skin gleamed from water droplets and the urge to touch her was stronger than ever.

He moved closer when he heard her sigh, kneeling behind her and soaking the cloth into the water.

"Mary, would you be even more careful?" she asked quietly. "I fear after tonight, my skin is just a little too sore for a scrub."

His lips tightened at that and he gently moved her hair out of the way. But the brush of his fingers caused her to jolt and lean away, whipping her head towards him lightning-quick. Her eyes grew large at the sight of him.

"L-Lord Bolton!"

She practically scrambled away in the tub, not moving much at all aside from clinging to the other side of the tub opposite him and leaning away. His eyes briefly caught sight of the slight reddening of the water and his hand snapped out quickly to still her, tightly holding onto her arm.

"Do not move. You are harmed," he murmured, moving his eyes from the water to her face.

Her face shuttered and she looked away from him. Again gently, he pulled her closer to him and held her still there.

"Turn around," he commanded and she tensed before doing so. He moved to push her hair away again, pausing at the sight of her back. Scars littered it, too old to be at the hands of his bastard. "Who did this to you?" he hissed, tracing a scar with the pads of his fingers.

She didn't answer him, merely flinching away. No matter. He had all the time in the world to question her and needle the answer out of her. He was known for his patience.

Instead, he focused on tending to her skin, wiping the cloth across the whole expanse of her back. Despite (maybe even because to him) of the scars on her back, she seemed even more beautiful to his eyes. A survivor and a fighter.

Even now, in her own way, she resisted Ramsay and him.

"My bastard doesn't appreciate you," he started off softly. "He doesn't see what he has."

She said nothing, but that was fine for him. He could see she was still intently listening.

"A man's touch doesn't have to hurt," he made his voice even softer, instinctively knowing that his bastard wasn't the only man to hurt her. Her scars proved that. "It _can_ be kind."

_That_ coming from him was ironic.

Still, after a gentle swipe of the cloth near her shoulder, he leaned closer and placed his lips there for a few moments.

" _I_ can be kind to you," he whispered against her skin. "My bastard doesn't know how to treat you, but _I_ do. I can make you feel good. I can make sure you learn how a man's touch is supposed to be. _I can teach you that it can feel pleasurable_."

He smiled to himself. He not only saw but felt her take a shuddering breath, her whole body reacting to him. Her skin began to flush enticingly pink and it was all he had to keep himself from going any further.

Roose reached around her with the cloth, lightly washing her front and feeling the curves of her breasts (halted by her uneven breathing) and sliding down her slim stomach, only to reach the water and keep away from where he most wanted to touch.

" _I_ can be a good man to _you_."

He pressed his lips to her cheek, lingering to make an impression on her, before leaving the cloth floating in the water and standing up.

"I will return in a sennight, Lady Sansa. Allow me to show you how you should be treated, how you are supposed to be touched. Until then, my Lady."

He made himself leave before he ended up changing his mind and give her very little time to consider his proposal.

~⸹⸹⸹~

His attentions weren't wanted, but they also weren't _unwanted_. Sansa did not know what to make of Lord Bolton, only that his attentions on her were too intense, too invasive, too heated…

In a way, it was worse than Ramsay because she reacted to Lord Bolton in ways she didn't want to, in ways she was ashamed to.

She hated Ramsay and the way he touched her, abused and tortured her every night. But Lord Bolton made her blood flow, her skin heat, her heart race —it was unbearable how much she reacted to Lord Bolton in a way that made her realize the idea of being wanted by him was intoxicating.

He made her want him in return.

_It hurt_. Being touched by another man, that was what she had always thought. She always thought, from her time to King's Landing to now with Ramsay, that no man would ever treat her right. That pain and suffering from others would be all that she knew.

_Someone brave, gentle and strong._

No, there were no men like that anymore and certainly none around her. She had been surrounded by monsters for most of her life by now, and she knew better than to think otherwise. Even with Lord Bolton's soft spoken, enticing words of a strange kind of gentleness.

But…that his offer was tempting at all said much of her current state.

Ramsay was cruel and sadistic, but Lord Bolton was surprisingly not. Even if his reputation left much to the imagination, what she had known of him so far was at the least…the father was better than the son, and part of her was desperate to know what it would feel like to be touched and not be tortured and be brought to pain for it.

Even if she wouldn't find pleasure in it, she just wanted to know _it wouldn't hurt_.

Started 1/12/20 – Completed 1/19/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pffft, I don't even know why I'm obsessed with this pairing XD I just am. I blame it for being the reason I got so drawn into and obsessed with Game of Thrones at first. Y'all don't even know. Indulge me? Mwahaha, stick on the crazy ride and remember to review to save my soul XDXDXD


	2. Do You See Me Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Mind Games by BANKS

Her feet treaded lightly against the floor, keeping her steps silent. She couldn’t sleep, hadn’t been able to even rest on her bed.

Her thoughts were plagued by Lord Bolton, even though her body throbbed in pain because of the son and his recent visit an hour ago.

But it was the father that had her mind racing, preoccupied and unable to think straight. The ghost of his lips on her skin, the gentle promises he whispered in his soft voice…

She sighed angrily to herself, wanting to forget the whole thing. She’d even torn off a piece of her bread viciously, before realizing she was acting too heated about that encounter. Making a right, she ran into a hall filled with Bolton soldiers, who ended up staring straight at her for her entrance.

“Lady Sansa,” one of them started. “It’s late? Perhaps you should return to your chambers.”

Her mind immediately flashed to what happened there, before remembering why she was wandering in the first place.

Being in _that_ room, where all the horrors happened, made it difficult for her to stay there and to sleep. Instead, she’d taken to just wandering around the halls like a ghost, unable to find rest or any sort of peace.

However, for once, she’d been interrupted in her solitary walk by the unfortunate run in with these five soldiers.

“I can’t sleep,” she felt herself speak out, almost out of body.

She did not want to return to her chambers at all.

Ignoring them, she averted her eyes from the soldiers and determinedly sat herself on the floor near them, leaning against the wall.

She didn’t know why they were stationed there or keeping watch in that area. She just knew it was as far away from her room and Ramsay as she could, and if they kept quiet and didn’t bother her, then all was well.

Except one of their stomachs didn’t agree and she looked up and at the soldiers, all of whom were looking away from her. One of them though, looked obviously embarrassed.

She glanced at her bread before she stood up and headed over, tearing off a piece and handing it over.

“It’s not much,” she murmured.

“You don’t have to do that, my Lady,” he protested but she merely continued to hold it out until he relented and took it.

Then she repeated the motions four more times, to silent Bolton soldiers who accepted their piece of bread until she was left with the last piece and she’d gone back to her spot.

So long as she found her peace and quiet, she didn’t care.

~⸹⸹⸹~

They settled in for dinner, with Roose sitting next to his lady wife and sitting directly in front of Lady Sansa. Next to her sat his bastard son, Ramsay grinningly settling into his chair and already selecting his food.

Roose stared him down, causing Ramsay to stop with a grimace and wait until everyone was seated. Then Roose reached out to the food first. Once he’d finished, the rest of them started in on the small selection of food offered.

It was shaping to be a long, harsh winter indeed and Roose reminded himself he had long days of work ahead of him, and even later that night he needed to continue figuring out the state of the North. Looking to relieve himself of the grief and stress he had to look forward to, he went to carefully gaze at Lady Sansa.

Practically gleaming in the dimmed warm light of the candles around them, she was exquisite to behold. He wished he could openly gaze upon her, knowing that his gaze was hungry as it was. Instead, he let his gaze hungrily look over her in secret, watching her soft, plump lips to the slender curve of her neck, to her generous bosom that he had only a glimpse of in her bath.

Below the table, he knew her shapely hips would be perfect for his hands to curve around, while her tiny waist would let his wands wrap around them, let him hold onto while he snapped his hips harder and faster —

A sharp, almost silent exhale escaped her and he watched intently as she reached down and gently held her ribs.

He wanted to snarl, stopping himself from openly glaring at his bastard.

The Lady was hurt, enough that her breathing suffered. Damned Ramsay. Did he not know control? Over and over, Roose had to have had the same lecture with his bastard again and again —even before Lady Sansa.

And as he continued to watch, he also realized Lady Sansa had barely touched her plate, preferring instead to move around the food. She only took tiny bites after she gazed furtively at Ramsay and, when she saw him looking at her, took a small bite to appease his stare. Then again, Ramsay _had_ served her the food…

Roose took a long sip of his water, before addressing her aloud.

“Lady Sansa, if you are able, as formerly a tenant of this castle and more familiar with it and its upkeep, I would ask that you stay behind after our meal and provide me with your assistance.”

“But Father —” Ramsay started in protest.

He stared his bastard down again, eyes cold and face indifferent. “Lady Sansa’s help is invaluable. She _will_ do her duty to Winterfell and its Lord.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Sansa flinch. But his words effectively shut his bastard up and Ramsay mulishly went back to his food. While he finished his own meal, he had a servant bring the aforementioned books and then refilled his own plate as Ramsay finished and then irritably left, while he pointedly took a bite of each of what he filled his plate. His own lady wife finished, trying to discreetly snag an apple and hide it away as she excused herself. He refrained from rolling his eyes.

But then it was him and _his_ Lady.

“Stay here,” he ordered and stood up, leaving her for a moment after he’d dismissed the servants. Instead, he searched out Maester Wolkan and asked for a healing ointment and some wrappings. When he returned, he was pleased to see Lady Sansa demurely sitting in her seat, obeying his command.

He came towards her and placed the ointment jar and wrappings in front of her, hands moving deftly to her stays.

“M-My Lord,” she gasped, jerking away.

“Still,” he was ordering again. Taking the ointment, he opened the jar and took a bit on his fingers. “You may move just a little for this. If you would remove the top part of your gown so I may use this on you?”

She was so frozen he thought she’d refuse, but her dainty hands reached up and started to lift her gown off of her shoulders and then allowed to fall to her waist. Then the shift under was carefully shucked up from underneath. He used a hand to still hers, leaning in from behind her.

His chest brushed up against her back as he let go of her hands and lifted up her shift enough so that he could move the hand with the ointment on it underneath the shift, remembering where she had held her hand to her ribs. He applied it there carefully, feeling her shiver.

“Is there anywhere else that’s hurt? Are your ribs more than bruised?” he breathed against her ear.

“J-just here, Lord Bolton,” her breath hitched, and he looked to see her hand cautiously hovering over her stomach. “My ribs are much better than they were a few days ago.”

He let his hand move to her belly, rubbing it gently. “Better?”

“Y-yes.”

He reluctantly moved away and wiped his hand on his trousers, replacing the cover on the jar. “You may keep the ointment. Maester Wolkan is making more and has no need of that one. The wrappings are for your use, if your ribs need them.”

He wouldn’t have minded doing the wrappings himself, but he feared he might be pushing her too fast, too soon.

Roose then retrieved his plate and set it in front of her. “If you fear the food or plate poisoned, by Ramsay or me, then take my plate. I refilled it for you and so you can see it is fine —you saw with your own eyes that I made sure to take a bite of everything on here.”

“I do not think you to have poisoned it,” she said, “but Ramsay for his enjoyment or Myranda for her jealousy.”

He vaguely remembered that ‘Myranda’ was one of his bastard’s whores, but he was at least pleased that Lady Sansa did not think him to poison her.

She began to tentatively eat and he turned to his books, set to start in on his work while she ate.

“Are those from Fa —” her voice cracked, before she cleared it and tried again. “The Lord of Winterfell’s solar?”

He eyed her cautiously. “They are.”

Lady Sansa licked her lips. “You do not have the most current Winterfell books. I suspect you do not have the books detailing the North’s handlings as well.”

He watched her closely. “I have many missing.”

“In the Maester’s chambers, the Winterfell books should be placed there. Of the entire North’s affairs, you will find them in the Lord of Winterfell’s actual chambers,” she informed him quietly. “Even if they are outdated because of the recent years and the war, those books and papers shall help you get a comparative idea of what needs to be done for Winterfell and the rest of the North. You should get an idea of how to get things back to…to normal.” She swallowed thickly and looked down.

Intrigued, he approached her again. Standing by her and leaning against the table, he didn’t force her to lift her head and look at him.

“You are quite intelligent and resourceful, Lady Sansa. May I inquire how you know of all this, and also how you can provide such sound advice?”

Lady Sansa slowly lifted her face, watching him solemnly. “My lord father did not think his children should be so unlearned, especially as children in line of the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, whom have different and even more responsibilities and duties than other highborn children. Even though Robb was his heir, he had me learn alongside Robb —as second eldest, I was expected to make sure I knew how to run Winterfell and the North in case my lord father and my lady mother were indisposed. I would support Robb, or be capable of doing so on my own if Robb was also indisposed. In turn, after I learned my duties, I would be old enough to help teach my younger siblings so that they may also be capable to supplement the running of Winterfell and the North, or step in if need be. Given what happened though, I was never able to pass on anything to the others,” she ended quietly.

She hesitated but continued. “My education also just slightly fell short however. But in King’s Landing, that was…remedied,” she ended in a whisper.

He was tempted to pry more out of her, but he was pleased enough that she offered this amount of information to him already. He would not push his luck with her.

However, he found himself intrigued and even impressed, despite himself. He couldn’t recall ever meeting a woman so intelligent or capable —competent maybe, as he’d known her lady mother had been, but Lady Sansa was on a different level to those women.

It made him want her even more.

Eying her, he saw she was tense as a bow. He came closer to her, going to move directly behind her once more, laying his hands on her shoulders.

“Lord Bolton?” she asked in question, voice trembling and her eyes refusing to look at him.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured. “And surprisingly with the intelligence to match that. And at least the courage to show it, unlike most women.”

It was actually rather arousing.

“You promised a sennight,” she said sharply, surprising him and making him pause. She finally looked up at him. “Did you not?”

The hard look on her face took him aback and reconsider her —he _knew_ she still had a steel of spine on her. It made him start to harden considerably and take a deep breath.

“I did,” he said lightly, not backing down and looking away from her gaze. “And I _will_ show you just how much pleasure I can wring out of you,” he promised darkly.

She pressed her lips together. “At one time, I wondered how a woman could like being touched and to be intimate with another man, if all there was was pain. That it wouldn’t make sense if there were so many babies and whores in the world. But then I thought…babies come from duty.”

“And whores?” he asked, voice not belying anything, even if he wanted to frown.

“Lord Baelish once took me to one of his whore houses,” she caught him off guard again. “And I watched as he instructed two whores how to act, how they were to sound, how they were to look, and how _they_ would proceed to pleasure a man and earn their coin.”

“Not all whores act in the bedroom,” he said while his mind raced to find arguments to counter her. “There is enjoyment in intimacy.”

“Prove it,” she challenged him, and though normally he’d be irate and angered that someone would dare _challenge **him**_ …On Lady Sansa, it made her even more desirable and he was pleased to see the fire in her still burning.

Not beaten down yet, his Lady. She had some wolf’s blood in her yet.

“I’ll make a believer out of you,” he decided to tease her and was pleased when he was rewarded with her flushed cheeks and startled look. “Might I provide a taste of the future?”

He didn’t wait for her reply, placing his hands on her shoulders and kneading firmly, if slowly. The resulting gasp made him smirk. He pressed in his thumbs just a little more, feeling the tension, and kept pace to massage it out.

She made a low moan in her throat that made his blood rise. When she whimpered, he licked his lips and watched over her as he remembered every reaction her body had to his hands.

“Does it not feel good, Lady Sansa?” he asked without needing an answer. “Do you still think to disbelieve me?”

And then he cupped her throat, using the tips of his fingers to press down on her jaw in small, tight circles and his thumbs to firmly rub the side of her tense neck. In no time, he had the tension easing out of her, while she slightly writhed in her seat and arched her head further into his hands. The sounds escaping her made him have to keep a tight watch on his control, his cock straining against his trousers.

But she was quieting herself, trying to stop her noises and softened them at least. That wouldn’t do at all.

“I want to hear you,” he growled. “Let me.”

Her eyes opened, having closed sometime when he started his massage, and she looked weakly at him.

“The-the servants —”

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “None are here, but even so, I don’t care. _I_ am Lord here and they answer to _me_. So let me _hear_ you, _my_ Lady,” he ended possessively.

She gasped and her eyes fluttered. She did not get louder, but she no longer kept in her moans and sighs of delight.

It was fine for now —soon enough, he would have learned all he needed to have her screaming for him.

Oh, but he was so greedy and he wanted more. He’d told himself he’d massage her shoulders and neck, and her head.

But his hands wanted to wander and he found he couldn’t deny himself just a little more.

Roose moved around her to face her. She looked at him with wide, watchful eyes, probably waiting for what he would do next, so he reached for one of her hands and continued to massage the tips of her fingers. From there, he made his way from the tips to her actual fingers, to holding her hand gently between his as he used his thumbs to knead out her palm and caress the back of her hand. He repeated the same motions to her other hand, before gripping it and leading it to his mouth.

He kissed it several times before letting his tongue roll out and wrap around a finger, sliding against it and closing his eyes as he was savoring the taste of her mixed with a bit of sweetness from the honey of the bread roll. He let out a loud groan, opening his eyes slightly to gaze at her hotly from a hooded gaze.

“I do enjoy you very much, Lady Sansa, so please remember to show me and let me hear your pleasure,” he practically purred.

She held his gaze as she slowly nodded.

Started 1/25/20 – Completed 1/27/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some porn without porn XD Hahaha! AKA Foreplay. Or seduction. Or something. Just Roose, STAWP. Lololol, I’m surprised this thing has any reception at all. I hope everyone enjoyed and please remember to review to feed my condemned soul :D
> 
> Quick Point:
> 
> 1\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa).


	3. These Are the Things I Can Do Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Because Ramsay. Also suicidal inclinations (both happening at the end of chapter)
> 
> Playlist:  
> Shout by Think Up Anger (Nirvana cover)

Sansa admittedly had taken a look at the books and then at Lord Bolton's notes. She found herself talking quietly with the former castellan before Lord Bolton came to the castle to take over the duties. Before she knew it, the two of them had started discussing the castle's affairs before then actual plans began being made.

Then her anxiety about things had her have him take her to the Seneschal, the Marshal, then the Master-at-Arms, and she kept going until she had everything noted and made structured plans with all of them to improve the upkeep of Winterfell and even Wintertown. If everything was followed, there was a chance of surviving this winter intact, enough to recover more fully during the spring.

She and the castellan had just entered the Great Hall when they ran into Lady Walda Bolton. Sansa didn't know how to approach the other, especially given…Lord Bolton's attentions towards her.

"Please excuse me, my Ladies," the castellan bowed, glancing uncertainly between the women. "Lady Wa —Bolton," he corrected quickly. But then he let slip, "Lady Stark."

He cleared his throat, even as his eyes grew wide. Bowing quickly, he left them before anything could be said.

"Lady Bolton," Sansa started before Lady Bolton hurriedly cut in.

"Please call me Walda."

Though taken aback, she nodded agreeably, strangely earning a beaming smile from her.

"I'm actually really glad you're here," Lady Walda smiled. "All these grim people! You're like a colorful spot in this place, you know? And there's not many females here. The few are grim as the men, or too old," she whispered like she was saying something scandalous.

"It's a bit lonely."

The soft confession gave Sansa pause. She looked a bit closer at Lady Bol —Lady _Walda_ , and gave a tight smile.

"Seek me out when you want, Lady Walda."

Lady Walda was all smiles for her. "May I ask what you were doing with Ser Walter?"

Sansa hid her wince, having forgotten that she'd been focused on doing duties that belonged to Lady Walda now.

"I apologize and have overstepped, Lady Walda," she said formally. "I was going over the upkeep of the castle with Ser Walter, seeing over rations and our overall stores, as well as the rebuilding process."

Lady Walda's eyes widened and she looked uncertain. "Oh. Was…was I supposed to be doing that?" The poor woman looked uncertain, wringing her hands. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea!"

Taken aback, Sansa didn't know what to do. She'd assumed that Lady Walda had known and maybe had been doing some duties slowly and in her own pace, but…

"It's okay," she soothed, coming closer and hesitantly placing her hands on Lady Walda's arms lightly. "I did not mean to upset you, Lady Walda."

"No, no," Lady Walda shook her head. "I just hadn't thought I was supposed to be doing all these things. I…I was never taught anything. My family…they didn't think to teach me how to read, much less how to run a keep. I'm a daughter and not even a well-liked or one of the eldest. I was ignored or made fun of," she ended in a shamed whisper.

Sansa felt sorry for her. It must've been hard, growing up the way she had.

"W-would you like me to teach you?" she found herself stammering out.

Lady Walda gasped, starting to smile widely. "You'd teach me?"

She gave her a tentative smile back. "If you'd like."

"Please!" the older woman said delightedly.

Sansa took her hand and began to lead her towards the library, deciding that this was something she could do for the other and preoccupy herself in her home that had become a prison.

  
~⸹⸹⸹~

  
Her steps were light as always, quiet in the corridors as she tried to keep her mind from wandering back to the past and to her _husband_.

She had yet to return to her rooms, where no doubt Ramsay would be waiting for her, if he hadn't already left to find her. If she was lucky, he would have grown impatient and decided to find his entertainment elsewhere. Perhaps he'd indulge in Myranda tonight, or one of his other whores.

She nibbled on her small piece of bread, finding herself running into the same band of soldiers as last time. Their reactions were again similar in the way they'd turned to her and yet another awkward round of staring…but then they became amused, making her falter.

Sansa could not, for the life of her, picture seeing _Bolton_ soldiers amused.

"My Lady, perhaps we shall install a chair if you wish to continue to grace us with your presence?" the leader of the men, she assumed, gave her a slight smile.

"It'd be practical," she said dryly, keeping her face plain. Though she did allow her lips to twitch, conveying her own amusement. "Perhaps I should bring more bread too, so the shares aren't so pathetically small."

"You need not share with us, Lady Sansa," the one she'd first shared with before said, cheeks actually reddened, as if remembering the last time.

She was surprised to find a laugh escape her. She opened her mouth to gently tease back, a once empty void in her miserable world aching to be filled with some sort of happiness, only for —

"So this is where my lady wife has been hiding!"

Her body, as it has learned to do in his presence, tensed up and her shoulders hunched in, her head tilting and hiding her face.

"Lord husband," she murmured.

"I thank you, good men, for keeping my lady wife company. We'll be going now."

Chills ran up and down her spine and she felt Ramsay's thin fingers wrap around her arm and yank her away. In a moment of weakness, she couldn't stop herself from glancing up and looking in terror at the soldiers, the bread crumbling and then falling from her hand as Ramsay dragged her away.

She didn't care who they were —nameless and practically no one to her. But she had never shown any kind of weakness to anyone in that new Winterfell, where she was alone and friendless, bound there as a prisoner and trapped there with the murderers of her family.

And in a moment of fear, had shown weakness to the enemy.

Sansa had especially never, _never_ wanted to show just how much Ramsay affected her, and she let her guard down for just a moment.

She'd always been a silly stupid girl.

  
~⸹⸹⸹~

  
Torrhen felt his body seize with the urge to rush forward and yank Lady Sansa away from Lord Ramsay, knowing nothing good was to come from him dragging her away.

The brief look of horror he knew she hadn't meant to reveal haunted him. Unwittingly, his eyes landed on the piece of bread that lay on the floor and remembered how she'd given him a piece of her bread the first time they'd run across her there.

A hand clasped his shoulder and he looked around to see grim faces on the others.

"Go find Lord Bolton or Lady Walda," Captain Steelshanks told him. "Go!"

He took off, the armor clanging loudly on him.

Lady Bolton —or as everyone felt more at right calling her Lady Walda (while not to her face), given how practically everyone were viciously in the belief that Lord Bolton had married beneath himself and she wasn't fit to be Lady Bolton —would be easy to find. Either hidden away in her quarters that had been given to her, or near (if not in) the kitchens. Having rushed past her chambers, Torrhen let his feet take him to the kitchens, finding Lady Walda leisurely snacking on a piece of…l-lemon cake? It was strange, especially considering knowing whose favorites those were. The Lady was also focused intently on a book and parchment, biting on her lip in concentration.

"Lady W-Bolton!" he corrected himself quickly, back to his rising panic. "You must find Lord Bolton and inform him Lady Sansa has been —"

Has been what? Taken by her lord husband? It was his right. Torrhen didn't like it, nor did the others, but it was his right. What was he going to say? Would Lord Bolton even care?

"Tell him…tell him Lady Sansa has been taken by Lord Ramsay to be hurt," he said pained, not knowing what else to say.

Her screams had echoed in these halls before and it had bothered him just as much then as the thought of them now. Unless they were more of Ramsay's lackeys than the bulk of the Bolton forces holed up in Winterfell, the sound of Lady Sansa's screams felt like it continued through the stone walls of the castle, forever haunting and never letting them forget.

And for Torrhen, a Whitehill brother less inclined towards violence than Gryff and maybe even Karl when he'd been alive…

It was unbearable.

Especially after she'd shared her bread with him and the peace and quiet they'd kept together in that corridor.

"Lady Sansa?" Lady Walda gasped. For her size, she moved rather quickly. "I'll find Lord Bolton!"

She left him and all he could think about was that he didn't want to hear Lady Sansa's screams again that night.

  
~⸹⸹⸹~

  
It hurt like the Seven Hells, dragged along by Ramsay with her shoulder barely working. As far as she could tell, after Ramsay had yanked her arm and started dragging her, somewhere along the way her shoulder had dislocated from her arm. It certainly wasn't the first time it had happened to her, but it hurt all the same.

Before long, he'd brought her to her chambers, her old childhood rooms that had become a nightmare of a hell for her. He'd banged the door open and shoved her inside, roughly handling her until she'd stumbled into her bed and had been knocked onto it.

"Has my lovely wife been feeling lonely? You shouldn't be walking around so late, Sansa," Ramsay hmmed, running a finger down her face before cupping her neck, squeezing it warningly. "You should have come find me!" He smiled maniacally at her.

Hating his taunts, hating that taunting _tone_ …Sansa found herself unable to not glare at him.

"I'd find better company in your father," she taunted back and then was startled, shocked she'd said something back to him aloud.

His face turned furious and she didn't see the strike when it happened. His open palm struck her cheek and her head violently flew to the other side.

Ramsay had never struck her face before —like Joffrey, he preferred her unblemished and pretty in the face.

It made her breathing speed up —not in fear but anticipation. Why should she care? Why did she even want to be there anymore? All of her family was dead. Only two remained and there was more chances that Arya was dead than alive, while Jon would not miss her after her treatment of him when they were younger.

No one was left to care.

"He's probably a better lover than you," she continued to goad, though unable to help the recent memories of Lord Bolton her words had provoked. "He probably knows how to treat a lady better than you!"

' _Come on, come on, you bastard. I don't care anymore. I don't care.'_

Enraged, Ramsay wrapped his hands around her neck and began choking her. Sansa gasped, struggling for air but also willing herself to stop, to let all that air go and for it to end.

She just wanted to be with her family again.

Vision fading in and out, she heard her door slam violently open and the image of an infuriated Lord Bolton standing there was the last thing she saw.

Started 2/3/20 – Completed 2/9/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo! This would’ve been sooner and most of it had been done, but then the part with Walda was what took me longer as I kept putting it off and not being able to finish it. Whoops? Anyway, hope you guys are getting geared up and enjoying this? Err, minus stupid Ramsay XD Please leave some feedback so I know what you guys like and what you want to see! Thanks, my lovelies!
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. Current GoT Fics:  
> Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin),  
> A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa),  
> and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa).  
> Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight.
> 
> 2\. Torrhen Whitehill: I was looking for hopefully canon characters that were ‘Bolton bannerman’ I could use and ran across young Torrhen here, from the GoT game (the Telltale one, I believe). Lol, I lucked out. 
> 
> 3\. Ramsay is a dick, I know. Sorry?


	4. I'll Make You Let Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Breathe by Of Verona (slowed down)

The first thing she was aware of when she awoke was the feel of hands. She tensed up (which hurt her sore body), but found that those hands were placed firmly against her and hadn't moved or done anything other than kept their firm hold on her.

Before she opened her eyes, she focused on those hands. Warm and heavy, one of them lay against where her hurt ribs were. But there wasn't any hard pressure, just a firm press as if to keep her side on a steady breathing rhythm. The other hand was placed against her recently injured throat, even gentler and considerate of her injury.

She could feel the calluses on his skin, the steady breath of the man breathing lightly against her face, and the weight of his body hovering over hers.

Lord Bolton's presence had always been difficult to miss.

Sansa opened her eyes finally, gazing directly into those marbled eyes of his, pale and mesmerizing and as intensely focused on her as always.

His fingers lightly brushed against her throat. "How do you feel?"

She tried to answer, but her throat convulsed and she only made a choked out sound. He frowned.

"Don't force it. If you cannot answer, I won't force you to speak."

Still, his eyes lingered over her. His hand left her throat to softly trail over the temple of her head, down her cheek, a finger lightly tracing her lower lip, and then leading down her shoulder, grazing her clothed breast and then landing on the other side of his other hand on her waist. His hands curved around it and she watched as he watched them intently.

By then, it was like she couldn't breathe and it wasn't because of her injuries.

He always seemed to make her feel breathless.

Lord Bolton looked up at her then, his face in its usual impassivity. "It's not a sennight, but do I have an answer from you, my Lady?"

An answer. He wanted to know if she had an answer for him yet.

Though it pained her, she swallowed slowly and kept her eyes locked with his.

" _I'd find better company in your father."_

Lord Bolton, in the scant moments they'd found themselves alone with each other, had definitely been better company for Sansa in practically all the time she'd spent back in her home, most definitely better than Ramsay.

" _He's probably a better lover than you."_

The way his hands had moved on her, had caressed her every time he lay them on her body…the way his mouth had erotically worshipped her hand…

Gods knew this man knew his way around a body, in both pleasure and pain, and he wanted to offer himself to her.

" _He probably knows how to treat a lady better than you!"_

Every time, Lord Bolton had treated her better than Ramsay, better than Joffrey, better than practically any man had. And it was so rare that anyone had treated her with kindness in the first place.

Words he'd said not too long ago flitted into her mind, making her inhale sharply at the memory.

" _My bastard doesn't know how to treat you, but_ _ **I**_ _do."_

And he had. Lord Bolton had treated her better than Ramsay ever had, acted like he was her lord husband, had all but admitted he'd wanted to be.

In a world where she'd known nothing but her pain and suffering, Lord Bolton was ironically the only one that offered her the very opposite of those.

" _ **I**_ _can be kind to you."_

" _ **I**_ _can be a good man to_ _ **you**_ _."_

Even if Lord Bolton wasn't a kind person to anyone else, even if he wasn't a good man —if he could be to her, for _her_ , then maybe this life would still be one she could endure.

So Sansa nodded in answer, watching as his eyes glittered in triumph and a slow smile spread on his lips.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Roose had left Lady Sansa behind to rest after she'd given her answer, more than pleased with this turn of events. After her recent ordeal though, he knew it was best for her to gain as much rest as possible and not strain herself and would probably need a few days to herself to fully recover.

And he still had to have a talk with Ramsay after all.

He remembered Lady Walda rushing into his solar, words irritatedly about to berate her, when she blurted out how one of the Bolton soldiers had told her that Lady Sansa had been taken by Ramsay to be hurt.

Lady Sansa was his bastard's wife, but he would _not_ allow this.

_Fury filling him, he all but ran to Lady Sansa's rooms. He'd practically slammed it open to see Ramsay on top of her and throttling her to death in anger._

_His own anger blinded him and he rushed forward, his hand thoughtlessly grabbing a handful of his bastard's hair and_ _**squeezing** _ _,_ _**yanking** _ _him back and feeling strands of hair tearing out of his bastard's scalp._

_All this, he knew, was uncharacteristic of him. His anger was usually very quiet, very cold, and never this outwardly violent. Even when engaging in physical violence, he would have kept an outward calm._

_But right now…_

" _Foolish boy!" he hissed, throwing his bastard to the ground._

_Ramsay, like a stupid fish, gaped at him, eyes bulging in shock. He needed to collect himself, explain away this irrational display of anger. He smoothed over his face and straightened up._

" _She is_ _ **not**_ _Lady Hornwood, who you barely escaped outrage on._ _ **This**_ _is Lady Sansa, a_ _ **Stark**_ _of Winter and beloved in the North. She is our key to our hold here and you have threatened_ _ **everything**_ _."_

_If he kept to logic, then he wouldn't look out of his usual character. Ramsay would be more inclined to listen and also wouldn't question Roose's behavior._

_Yes, he just needed to keep calm, even when his entire being wanted to wrap his own hands around his bastard's throat._

Roose had sent him away then, telling him he would be continuing this _conversation_ with him after he'd made sure no irreparable harm had been done.

When he found Ramsay in his own chambers, he coolly gazed at his bastard. Ramsay stood stiffly, watching him warily.

In a few steps, Roose had strode over and calmly backhanded his bastard, hard enough that Ramsay fell to the floor.

"I won't repeat myself again, Ramsay," he said coldly. "Lady Sansa is _not_ one of your playthings. Render her incapable of childbearing and she's useless to us. If you cannot put a babe in her, _you_ are useless to me."

But the very idea of his bastard putting a babe in her made him inwardly snarl and balk.

_He_ should be the one fathering a babe with her.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Still agitated after having dealt with Ramsay and still not feeling satisfied with the end of it, Roose refused to let it bother him, especially as he neared his rooms. Waiting in his chambers, he knew Lady Sansa was still resting.

The added fact she was waiting for him to come back was more than pleasing.

The fact she was lying down and blinking away tears was not.

"Lady Sansa?"

She turned her head slowly to face him, but did not otherwise move, alarming him though he made no indication of it on his face or body.

"During the time my lord husband dragged me towards my chambers, my shoulder was dislocated."

She said as fact not speculation, which made him frown. Meaning she knew what that would feel like already and probably even experienced it before. Her voice was still raspy as well and she shouldn't talk, but having her speak to him was such a rarity.

"You don't have to spare pleasantries with me about Ramsay," he said as he moved towards her and sat on the bed by her. "Call him what you want."

"Your bastard of a son dislocated my shoulder," she said bluntly, just as he slid his hands carefully around her, landing in between her shoulder blades and the back of her neck to support it. He moved her onto his lap, deciding to have her straddle him for better grip from them both.

His lips briefly lifted. "Then we shall be correcting your shoulder in a moment."

Having lifted her up against him, he used his thumb against her jaw to direct her to look at him. She did, eyes as blue and tough as Valyrian steel staring into his own pale eyes.

"You probably know this will hurt momentarily," he said, acknowledging her previous hurts, whether from his son or from those others who'd harmed her. "But I will fix the dislocation properly. I'll gather some of my tunic from my shoulder for you to bite on, but you can brace yourself against me."

Her eyes roved all over his face, even as he did as he told her, gathering some of the cloth at his shoulder and holding it out to her. After a moment, she leaned onto it and he felt the breath of her hot mouth against his shoulder before she bit onto the cloth and held on. Her mouth was pressed against his shoulder and he took a deep breath as he savored the feeling. The arm that wasn't hurt, wrapped around him and gripped his tunic from the back tightly.

"Brace yourself," he reminded her again quietly, and with a quick grip, popped her shoulder back into place.

There was no cry of pain from her, aside from a momentarily tightening of her hand and a harder press of her mouth against him. Afterwards, still holding onto her, he felt her hand loosen from his back and fall to the bed.

"Better?" he asked, even as he enjoyed their current position.

In this way, with her repose against him, he could imagine her resting in the same way after he'd had her riding him long and hard.

Still, like this, he could feel her stilted breathing and remembered her injured side. From his examination before, by now he understood they were just bruised and just needed careful handling. Bruises, too, most likely littered her stomach and were the cause of her pain. A fresh bruise would heavily cover the side of her face after Ramsay's assault on her earlier. Then there were the bruises around her neck…

He leaned his head back and looked at the bruises on her neck with a scowl, clenching his jaw. He reached out and touched his fingers against them, feeling her flinch.

"Do not speak anymore," he ordered regretfully. "I would not have you straining yourself."

Even more regretfully, he lifted her off of him and placed her onto the bed, before he went to retrieve a jar of ointment he'd retrieved on the way from Ramsay's to back to his own chambers.

"This would be easier if you'd remove your gown, Lady Sansa," he said before he turned back to her.

She was sitting on the bed, watching him warily. He held up the jar as he walked a bit closer to her again, stopping an arm's length away.

"Any liberties I take will only be granted by you," he promised, though he made no say on not trying anything in the first place.

Those steely blue eyes kept watching him, her face impressively impassive. But then she gracefully, even though he knew her pain, stood from the bed and turned her back to him, moving her fiery hair to the side. He set the jar aside and licked his lips, fingers moving to the bodice of her gown.

Deftly untying her ties, his fingers then moved to slide it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, revealing her chemise and the shape of her body.

For a moment, they stood just like that, her standing with her back to him and him just a breadth away from her almost naked body. Roose breathed hard, watching her and deciding his next move.

He leaned in closer and murmured into her ear, "If I pulled down your shift, would you protest?"

From behind her, he watched as her throat bobbed as she swallowed slowly. A shiver ran through her body, but she said or did nothing to indicate an answer. Instead, she turned her head slightly and watched him again, once more with those steeled eyes.

He didn't look away as he lifted his fingers to the top of her chemise, dragging it down her shoulders and down her arms, letting it fall to join her gown. The soft feel of her skin made him breathe even harder, more so as he glanced down at her bare body.

Skin as pale as ivory and body shapely as he knew she was, even her collection of scars did nothing to deter her beauty from him. They entranced him, made him want to draw each one's story from her lips.

Remembering himself though, he took the jar from the bed and collected some of the ointment on his fingers, stepping into her space. He held a hand to the naked skin of the curve of her hip and gently rubbed the ointment onto her side, letting his other hand lightly trail up and down her other side.

Selfishly, he softly planted kisses against the side of her neck and her shoulders, taking gentle care with her neck even as he firmly decided to pay special attention to it and the bruises that marred it.

"You are capable of pushing my head away, if you want," he murmured, enjoying this small taste of her. "I do not plan on pushing you and going too far with what your body can't handle, but if even this is not something you want, then I am a patient man."

But she did nothing to stop him, holding herself still. He put more ointment on his fingers and remembered to rub gently into her stomach, letting his lips caress her bruised neck, his hands carefully touching her body in a way that allowed her to savor the feel of them and not cringe away in pain. He let his lips traced the shell of her ear, watching her long legs shifting and her thighs rubbing together, imagining the wetness that grew down there. The red thatch of hair down there called to him and his fingers twitched to lower themselves and play with her folds.

"The Kingsguard," she rasped out, interrupting his thoughts.

He paused in his touches. "What is that?"

"You asked about my scars before," she shuddered. "The Kingsguard used to beat me by order of their King."

His jaw clenched and knew he would find out their names. And while she may not have elaborated to him, he knew he would eventually get her to tell him, pleased for now that she'd finally told him this.

Pulling her against him, he wrapped his arms just under full teats, watching them rise up and down with every breath.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" he asked idly, continuing to watch her.

She nodded slowly and he took one of her hands and placed it against the top of her left breast with their hands still laced together, pulling her tighter against him.

"Breathe with me," he murmured and watched her stilted breathing.

He laid his chin on her shoulder and just patiently had her match his breathing, slowly helping her to take in her breaths without painfully dragging in the air into her lungs and expelling it.

It was a calm and peaceful intimacy he enjoyed and wondered whether she did as well.

Started 2/9/20 – Completed 2/15/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, progress! We’ve got some progress for our bbys~ Hopefully they keep progressing? XD Thanks for reading! Send some feedback please, and let me know what you guys like or would like to see!
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa). Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight, and now Be Still, Heart.
> 
> 2\. Goddamn Ramsay.


	5. Haunted Lungs, Wicked Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Dogs of War by Blues Saraceno (most of the chapter)  
> Haunted (Medley) by Hope Murphy (Beyonce cover) (most of the end scene)  
> Haunted by Beyonce (absolute end)

Sansa hummed to herself, kneeling in the snow and facing the snarling dogs. She ignored the wretched figure of what was Theon (now _Reek_ ) lurking in the background, focusing on what she was doing.

Even though it was freezing cold and her knees hurt from kneeling on the hard ground, Sansa was not leaving until she did what she had set out to do.

What she had been doing since she'd come back to Winterfell and learned of them.

Ramsay's infamous hunting dogs.

"What vicious animals you are," she murmured, reaching out.

One of them snarled and snapped its jaws at her hand, though it hadn't bit her. Good, they were learning.

So far, she had managed to get these dogs tamed enough that they no longer were fighting against their chains to escape and attack her. Instead, while not yet docile, they stood at the ready for her, snarling still but sitting and watching her. It was a far cry from the beginning and it made Sansa slowly smile to herself.

Lady was long gone, her sweet and gentle Lady. These dogs were not Lady, not sweet and gentle at all. But they were here and they were going to be hers.

She swore it.

"Down," she kept her voice firmed and though they snarled, their sitting forms lay down, growling under their breaths as they stared at her with their beady eyes.

She smiled sadly at them. "Good boys," she said softly, their snarls turning into low growls, their ears flattening a little as their countenance grew just a bit gentler for her.

Yes, a far cry from before indeed.

Sansa reached for the bag and took out the piece of raw meat she had cut up. It wasn't a lot, not with their stores as they were, but it was fit for these dogs and a treat they never got from anyone. They were never treated kindly or given things, so it wasn't actually that hard for her to have attained their attention and this small bit of affection she'd gleaned from them.

Ramsay treated his dogs better than humans, but that wasn't saying much. Even his dogs meant nothing to him and she wasn't going to let them waste away for a bastard like him.

They were married after all and what was his was hers, if the opposite was focused on and held true for everyone.

Once each of the dogs had their treat and were chewing on the meat, she leaned in more towards them and focused on each of their eyes. She took a deep breath and focused. Sansa furrowed her eyebrows as she set out to warg with each of them, determined to tame them more and attune them with her and her with them. Further their attachment to her, outside of what attachment she'd earned through her continuous visits and attention.

These were her dogs now, damned Ramsay all to every Seven Hells.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Her body was still stiff and sore, but she walked listlessly through the halls, reading the books diligently. Thanks to the combined works of the others, as well as her and Lord Bolton's notes and their own work on running of Winterfell and the North, things were stabilizing enough and they'd gained substantial needed information about their odds against the winter and how they'd fare with what they had (along with the rest of the North). There was still plenty more for them to do and more for them to figure out, but at the moment, they'd done a lot to not be floundering foolishly.

"Lady Stark," someone outright called her, making her body tense up and worsening the soreness of her body.

Turning to the quiet voice, she recognized the Bolton soldier who'd called out to her —the leader of the group she'd somehow gotten to run into several times now.

"Captain Walton, my Lady," he introduced himself. "But they call me Steelshanks."

"Captain Steelshanks," she smiled tightly, trying to surreptitiously lean against the wall. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not at all, my Lady," he said politely. "You just looked unsteady."

Her face blushed, irritated with herself for showing weakness. To her surprise, he moved closer and subtly helped her, holding her steady as he started walking.

"I was thinking, Lady Stark, that we could talk on how to bolster the security of the castle. Winter is here and we must account for the weather, especially as it is noticeably much more colder than it has ever been."

While she no doubt thought this was a valid inquiry and he was serious about it, part of her was suspicious and thought he was trying to help her maintain an image as he helped her along.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Over here, my Lady!" He steered her towards a different retinue of soldiers. He introduced them and she remembered their faces and names, continuing on with Steelshanks as he held her steady and familiarized her with the other Bolton soldiers and had them formally introduced to her.

She took the introductions seriously, making sure they knew she wasn't just going through the motions. She _was_ in her mind and heart, the Lady of Winterfell after her lady mother's passing. And it was best for her to act like it and to think of them all as guests and not as invaders, as pests, as-as —

"My Lady?"

"Forgive me, I was momentarily distracted," she spoke quietly.

He gave her a faint smile. "You are a Bolton now, Lady Stark. I was just trying to remind you of that, and that that means we are all under your command now as well."

Though her feet didn't falter, what he said gave her pause and she silently examined the man's casual gait and his disarming content smile.

~⸹⸹⸹~

When she'd parted from Captain Steelshanks' side, she'd managed to find Lady Walda. The older woman was pleased to run into her as well and began to gleefully tell her about her progress on the books Sansa had given her to read. They was small, easy books that were made for children to learn to read, and Sansa had thought that after their long hours of their first lessons, she'd managed to teach Lady Walda enough of the basics that she'd be able to roughly read her way through the children's books.

She also, as she remembered her teachings from her lady mother and her septa, began to teach Lady Walda of what she should've expected were her duties as Lady of Winterfell. As _any_ Lady of a castle. She also started in on her numbers, teaching her to add and take away, how that would apply to a keep's finances and accounting, the way she could also keep it in mind in regards to rationing.

Sansa just hadn't expected Roose to find them and walk in on their lessons.

He did, surprisingly enough, actually had a confused look on his face as he found them. It was even more surprising that he looked rather adorable like that (or that she even found him capable of looking adorable). He would probably not appreciate her thinking he was, at any rate.

"May I ask what it is that you two are doing?"

"Lady Sansa is teaching me so much!" Lady Walda exclaimed in delight.

She began excitedly recounting everything that Sansa had thought to teach her, even bringing up how this came about in her own embarrassment (and some of Sansa's, as Roose shot her an amused look).

"Is that so?" he said and she _swore_ she heard the undertone of mocking in his tone.

Was he mocking her or Lady Walda? She narrowed her eyes at him, not happy either way. His lips briefly flitted into a smirk, before it quickly ceased back to his usual neutral line.

"Yes, very much so," her voice was hard and she could tell he heard it, his damnable lips twitching.

Amused at her, was he!

"Very good," he said, his voice its usual calm. "Thank you, Lady Sansa, for your help and your thoughtfulness to my lady wife."

He made an odd sort of frown though and she wondered at that.

"I also appreciate your help in regards to the duties of the castle and with the overseeing of the North. It is of great support to me."

Sansa inwardly reeled back, mostly because _he sounded and looked sincere_. It unnerved her, especially as his gaze became so serious and he did that ridiculously intense stare towards her.

"I would ask that you continue to do so and will have it known that you will be officially in charge of those duties and supporting me in the duties I similarly have to perform."

He minutely nodded towards her and then left them behind.

Did…did Lord Bolton just sanction her overseeing Lady Walda's duties and more or less named her de facto Lady of Winterfell?

Sansa shivered and glanced at Lady Walda hesitantly, seeing only the other's cheerfulness.

~⸹⸹⸹~

It did not take long for Roose to find her. She seemed to have an affinity for his solar when she would find a place to seek quiet and peace. In the days that passed and as she healed, he would often find her lingering around there.

Perhaps it reminded her of her lord father, perhaps it was a place she knew Ramsay would not look for her in or wanted to be in.

But it pleased him all the same, as it was where he was usually located when he did not make his rounds around the castle (made all the more obsolete after her own efforts in running the castle and setting organized and well structured plans in place).

"I have brought something for us to eat," he told her, setting down the small tray of assorted things.

She glanced quietly at him. "Dinner was served."

"We had dinner, yes, but if we have a long night, a little something will keep our energy up," he replied, keeping his tone light. "And it is more sweet than it is hearty."

Lady Sansa watched him curiously, unfurling from her curled up form by the fireplace.

"Will I see you often here?" he asked, moving closer and sitting on the floor next to her. He glanced at the fire and decided there was enough kindling in place that he did not need to place more.

"I often sat in Tywin Lannister's solar as he worked," she admitted to him quietly. "I did not bother him. I promise I will not bother you."

He eyed her, hiding his unease. "I will not be bothered, but be most content for you to seek your peace here with me."

Still, the thought that she might've formed an attachment of sorts to the Old Lion was unsettling and curious. He would be keen to prod further into it later on, when she continued to admit more of her truths to him.

He pulled the tray closer to him. "The cook has had to become a little creative with our stores, considering the incoming harsh winter and our already lack of supplies. He came up with this sweet marmalade that he made with a mix of fruits and some honey, I believe. These red fruits came from White Harbor from the last supply run they were able to send. They just cultivated it, though we won't be able to rely on them for more supplies until the snow drifts have slowed."

"Those are strawberries," she pointed out, glancing at him from under her lashes. "In King's Landing, they were in abundance. They are sweet."

He picked one up and offered it to her, though he moved his hand away when she attempted to take it from him. Flustered, she moved closer and her lips parted. He watched in amusement as she shyly bit into the fruit, moving quickly away after. He dropped the leafy top back on the tray and idly examined his juice-stained fingers.

Roose brought them to his mouth and let his tongue flick out to taste them.

"It _is_ sweet," he concurred, slyly watching her and entertained to find her getting even more flustered. "But I confess they are mostly for you, so allow me to feed you, my Lady."

He grabbed another strawberry and held it up to her in offering. After a moment longer of hesitation, she scooted closer and leaned in again.

Roose smiled to himself.

"Lady Sansa," he murmured when she had straightened up again. His hand chased after her lips, pressing his thumb against them before he traced her lower lip and watched it tremble intently. "I would like to ask something of you."

"Yes, Lord Bolton?" she asked unsurely.

He moved his eyes away from her lips to her startling blue eyes. "Here, in my solar at least, would you refer to me as your lord husband?"

He heard but said nothing of her shocked gasp, waiting calmly for her answer.

"Even if it is…pretend," he frowned to himself, before refocusing his intense focus on her. "I would like to speak of you, speak _to_ you as my lady wife."

She continued to stare at him in shock, but he said and did nothing to push her.

"If it so pleases my _lord husband_ ," she finally said, watching him back now with a flushed look.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment and recalling it again. When he opened his eyes again, he stared into those bright blue eyes of hers.

"It does, Wife." And _that_ made him inordinately pleased. But it also made the truth of the reality much more stark in comparison. He cupped her face and smiled wryly. "I should've been your husband. I should have married you myself," he confessed.

_I want to be your lord husband, but this ruse is all I have._

That admission, even if it was to himself, was too vulnerable and not something he expected to think. It had come out of nowhere and he was more and more uneasy with this.

"I would've been much more pleased with that match than what I have," she said plainly and all other thoughts ceased in his head.

He was a man with wants and ambitions, and he did not deny himself.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Lord Bolton made her dizzy with his intensity and desire. And to want her to call him her lord husband! She had no idea what was going through his head, but this was not something she could have predicted; she doubted even the Great Lion Tywin Lannister himself could have.

Since that last time with Ramsay, since that time he'd held her and her breathing with him, steady breaths that intimately linked their breathing and bodies together, Lord Bolton had done nothing but _haunt_ her every thought.

It was clear now, too, that she'd been haunting him, and for a very long time.

She could not pinpoint when, but she understood this was not a recent thing. He'd, now, very clearly admitted that he'd wanted to have married her, and wanted to be her lord husband —a thing she'd suspected before, but now had confirmation from Lord Bolton himself.

She did not understand him. Sansa could not read him anymore than anyone else, but to her, he seemed exceedingly mysterious because of his desire of her. Desire she had no idea where it had come from.

He held out another strawberry for her, and she couldn't help the way her cheeks warmed or the avoidance of his intense gaze.

" _Prove it."_

Gods, why did she have to challenge him like that? He said he'd make a believer out of her and he was exceeding so far and it terrified her.

All she'd known and had thought was that every touch on her person would bring on pain, but Lord Bolton had all but shown her the opposite and made her body react unexpectedly, in ways she wasn't used to.

Even now, feeding her like this, made butterflies fly frantically around in her stomach. If she didn't distract herself, she might either end up begging him to stop his torment and show her truly what he meant or run from him.

"You had a son before," she found herself asking. "Domeric. I remember hearing of his passing. I'm…sorry for your loss."

She didn't know why she brought that up. Of all the things…Maybe it was the thought that she was stuck with his _other_ son, his legitimized bastard who she she hated and admitted wanted dead. But it made her wonder about his other son and what he was like…

"He was a little older than you," he murmured. Lord Bolton put down the next strawberry he'd been picking up. "Quiet, calm. More like me than Ramsay, though Ramsay has more of my…violent tendencies," which made her shiver, though she saw that had in return made him frown. "He was, truthfully, my pride and joy, if someone like me could experience joy," he mused.

She did not think he _couldn't_. Something told her he was capable of it, if unused to it or showing it.

"He would've been a good husband to you," he said, voice still that same quiet. "If he'd been alive, I would have wedded you to him, not Ramsay. You would've been better off."

"Would you act like you are now still?" she asked curiously.

That made him visibly pause. "Yes," he confessed. "You would've still tempted me, but I would've felt guiltier."

"And do you feel guilt now?"

He scoffed. "Not at all. If it had been Domeric, most probably. But with Ramsay as your husband, absolutely not. Not that I'm a man likely to feel or suffer guilt."

More and more, he confused and conflicted her. He was, even admitted by himself, not the kind of man her father would have wanted for her and was callous as they come. But with her, he wasn't that same man for some reason. It made her suspicious and yet torn.

She shouldn't be content or remotely at ease with him, not when she knew who he was and what he'd done. He'd killed her brother, had helped caused Robb and her mother's deaths and had personally killed Robb himself.

But then she remembered that they _were_ dead and _she_ was still alive, and she lived in different hells and had only one reprieve in the form of this man.

What bit of happiness she could claim, she'd greedily grab hold.

Her family wasn't here to judge her. She had no more family _left_ to judge her. She had no one left.

None but Lord Bolton ironically.

"You're lost in thought, Wife," he said in observation and she noted how he oddly seemed to relish calling her that.

It astounded her how such a simple thing pleased him, but though he seemed complicated and obviously ambitious, he was also a cautious and quiet, calm man. "A Peaceful Land, A Quiet People" she'd heard him promote once, especially to Ramsay in a chance encounter when she overheard him lecturing her lord husband. He was not the type to lash out like Ramsay, nor was he one to overstep or overreach when he wasn't sure of the results.

Unbidden, she did end up wondering what, then, would have made him betray Robb…

"It's just that, lord husband," she tacked on, watching him carefully and seeing a pleased light enter his eyes, "how did Domeric die? I'm not sure, but I heard it was sickness…"

She saw him grow stiff, frowning down at the tray of fruits and the untouched marmalade. She almost took it back, understanding that she'd upset him.

"It was sickness," he finally said, making her relax, but only briefly as he continued. "That is what was told. It is not proven or widely spread, but he was probably murdered by Ramsay."

She looked at him in shock.

Lord Bolton frowned even more. "My trueborn son admittedly had a softer heart than I. He'd learned of my bastard and wanted to meet his half-brother. He'd always wanted a sibling, but I had no other inclinations of marrying again or fathering another child since I'd had him as my heir. I also, despite Ramsay, am not in the habit of fathering bastards. Obviously, as you know Ramsay's nature best, Domeric knew no better. With no other children, I had no choice but to take Ramsay in."

Sansa bit her lip, but the kindness in her heart could not stop her from reaching over and grabbing his hand and holding on. He gave their hands an odd look, but said nothing about it, keeping his hand still.

"It is all well," Lord Bolton said indifferently, but Sansa refused and believed him not to be. "Ramsay is all I have left, so it falls on me to… _correct_ his behavior."

Honestly, she doubted that even Lord Bolton would be capable of it.

"Lady Walda is fertile and a Frey," she found herself idly musing aloud, a little amusement leaking in. Then she blinked and turned red, looking at him sheepishly and just a bit mortified at the inappropriate remark that had slipped out. "Er, that is, if you were looking to father more children! She's still young and Frey's are known to be fertile. You'll have no trouble, I suppose —" And she kept digging her own hole, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.

But his hand tugged her wrists away and she looked up to apologize to him, only to inhale sharply at the look in his eyes, especially with his gaze drawn to her stomach.

"It would not be with her I'd like my seed to quicken in," he murmured, gaze too hungry to be appropriate.

Not that he ever truly was with her.

She took a shuddering breath, done so often with him, and tentatively reached out to lightly push him away and create more space between them.

"Despite whatever you call me, I am _not_ actually your lady wife, Lord Bolton," she breathed out, regret strangely filling her.

Then again, she told him she would've preferred marrying him to Ramsay, and it was true. Had she known about Ramsay, she would never have agreed to this marriage, would have told Petyr she would never agree to it. If he'd suggested Lord Bolton as an alternative, perhaps then she would've been more willing to play her part. As it stands, she felt cursed to just suffer.

She saw him frowning again and flinched. Of course she'd made him unhappy. That had not been her intent, even as it was the truth. Biting down on her lips, she clumsily reached out to grab a slice of apple and dipped it into the marmalade, holding it out to him.

A brief look of surprise crossed his face before he stared at her, his unreadable face making her feel foolish and silly for doing this and continuing to just hold out the apple slice like she was. But then his hand reached to grasp her wrist, lifting it up and pulling her hand towards him. His pale eyes, like the gray tints in marble, watched her the entire time, never looking away from her own eyes.

His lips slowly curved slightly, parting to bite the apple, the marmalade and the juice of the apple coating down her hand and down her wrist. She inhaled sharply as his tongue followed, licking down the path and making small licks around her palm, flicking up and down each of her fingers, and taking his time with laving every inch of her hand with it.

Lord Bolton took in a single finger into his mouth, suckling it and occasionally letting his tongue wrap around her finger, sliding against it in soft, slow movements. Sliding his lips around her finger as he removed his mouth from it, he moved on to the next finger and then the next, until every single one of that hand had felt the touch of his tongue, the suckle of his mouth…

Still holding onto her wrist, he held it higher and let his tongue lick up and down it, the trail of marmalade and juice disappearing as he cleaned after it with his eager tongue. His lips pressed down to her wrist, sucking on her pulsating veins there, probably feeling the way he was making her pulse race.

And though he didn't look away from her, Sansa couldn't tear her eyes away from him either.

Started 2/17/20 – Completed 2/24/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Roose. Honestly though, I think he's just as mysterious to me as Sansa, 'cause I'm not sure I know what's going on in his head either XD At least there's progress with them (and Winterfell/the North)? Huhuhu…(Poor Walda though, sweet but everyone just wants her to die already lol). I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter (and the continued porn without porn XD) and send some feedback on what everyone liked and would like to see in the future!
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa). Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight, and now Be Still, Heart.


	6. Paint My Heart Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am sorry for my transgressions _(rolls away)  
>  Trigger Warning: For Ramsay. It's all about Ramsay. Fuck 'im, and I'm sorry for his presence ;-;  
> e.g. domestic violence, forced fingering, allusions to biting and non-con assault and rape__
> 
> __  
> _Playlist:  
>  Paint It Black by Hidden Citizens (Rolling Stones cover)(for Ramsay)  
> Breathe by Of Verona_

Sansa sat in front of her looking glass, brushing her hair diligently as her body practically thrummed in pleasure and happiness, still remembering the touch of Lord Bolton.

It was still a strange thought for her —to seek comfort and deliberately want and need a man like Lord Bolton, especially given everything he's done. But then her body, just as it remembered his gentle touch, just as easily remembered the strike against her flesh from men like Meryn Trant and Ramsay. It could recall the way the cut of Ramsay's blade against her flesh, the way the Kingsguard's swords bit into her back and made her bled. Even now, it still remembers everything that Ramsay had put her through, not just of memory but suffering through the effects.

Her body sore and stiff, sometimes a phantom of pain from where Ramsay had rammed himself into her again and _again_. Part of her wondered if the act could really be as pleasurable and as good for her as Lord Bolton promised, while most of her cynically thought she would be too ruined to be able to experience and like it properly anyhow. A promised sensation she was afraid to admit she wanted and yet also afraid to think she could've had, but couldn't because Ramsay had _at least_ physically damaged her too much to feel it the way Lord Bolton promised she would.

_At her worse, she imagined it happening, the way Lord Bolton would make her feel, would touch her naked skin the way he wanted (the way she might want just as much) and wanting it so, so much and feeling a different sort of ache deep down into her soul._

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and a smile tugged at her lips as she called for them to enter, wondering if Lord Bolton had come to see her again —

The smile died on her lips at the sight of Ramsay walking into her room.

"Hello, dearest," he grinned at her. "Was that a smile I almost caught from you? How sweet! How _is_ my sweet wife doing?"

"I am fine, lord husband," she said stoically, rearranging her face into a blank facade. "I was just getting ready for bed."

"Were you?" he asked in feigned interest. "How disappointing. I was hoping you and I could spend some time together."

"I'm very tired, my lord husband," she said stiffly.

"I'm not."

He stalked towards her and snatched one of her wrists, gripping it painfully. She whimpered, which enticed him into grinning in a mad fashion.

"I love that sound, my lovely wife. May I hear it again?" he asked in a honeyed tone, hand squeezing tighter around her wrist.

It made her gasp and she couldn't help tugging her wrist from him, though his grip was relentless.

"What's wrong, Sansa? Don't you want to be with me tonight?" he taunted, pushing her onto the bed and pinning her down.

"G-get off of me!" she glared at him, catching him off guard.

"Oh? My little wolf's got some bite still! Hells, I would have thought my sweet wife was a docile, obedient woman, but I guess there's some wild wolf still in you!"

He grabbed a leg and roughly yanked her down, and this time she found she couldn't help fighting back, screaming at him.

Not when the thought of Ramsay's father made her blood heat up, the promise of his touch and tender attentions made her ache inside and want for him to show her _how this should really feel and be done_.

"Oh, shut up, Wife," Ramsay huffed, grin turning snarling as he pried her legs apart and shoved her shift up and past her hips, baring her to him with only her smallclothes in the way.

_Would you refer to me as your lord husband?_

Sansa would never again call Ramsay her lord husband. Not ever, not to her last breath.

"I hate you, you bastard!"

If she had to call someone her lord husband in this hell, it would never be Ramsay. It would be to a man that really wasn't, but could have been once.

His thin fingers jammed into her entrance, making her cry out. She bit down on her lip, causing it to bleed while she shut her eyes closed and tried to block everything out.

"Where's your bite now, Wife? I thought you were going to fight me?"

She was going to go away. She'll go away in her head and not suffer this. She refused.

Sansa missed the way another man called her 'Wife' and sounded tender when he did.  
  


~⸹⸹⸹~  
  


Her hands clutched at the stone walls, trying to keep her balance. Gods, she was just fighting to stay on her feet, when she seemed incapable of being able to walk around at all.

Not after Ramsay had assaulted her over and over, biting her body like an animal, slamming into her again and again, leaving behind bruises all over her body and gripping her hair so hard that her scalp tingled with pain still.

Her body was starting to reach a point and she just couldn't do it anymore. Her body couldn't handle dealing with this night after night.

She could barely think, dazed and in pain as she was. After Ramsay had left her in her bed, leaving her there like forgotten trash, she'd readjusted her shift back into place and painfully thrown on a robe. She'd pushed herself to get out of that bed and couldn't help think about Lord Bolton and want to go to him.

To have him take responsibility for his son, to pay and be forced to see what his son did to her night after night, _to take care of her and make her feel good again._

A soft cry escaped her as her legs faltered and she fell against the wall, having to lean heavily against it while she tried to breathe.

Everything hurt so, so much. She didn't know how she could stop feeling the pain all the time, to be able to feel like her body wasn't going to fall apart on her.

Because she felt utterly broken at this point.

"Lady Sansa?" she heard someone ask and she looked up to see a Bolton soldier, not one of the usual men she usually saw, but yet still vaguely familiar. Must be one of the ones Captain Steelshanks had shown her before, but not one she saw on a regular basis.

Sansa tried to wave him off, but she instead let out whimpers as her legs trembled and she almost collapsed to the floor. He darted forward and caught her.

"It's okay, Lady Sansa. Just hold on —I'll bring you to Lord Bolton."

Funny how it seemed almost everyone had already decided she would need to go to him, acting like she belong to Lord Bolton and not the son.

How she wished that was the truth and she hadn't listened to Petyr when he had convinced her to do this, to come back to this strange Winterfell and marry that crazed bastard.

The soldier came closer and was careful in grabbing an arm more securely and then helping to hold her up.

"Let us go to him now and he'll take care of you, my Lady."

She didn't even know why Lord Bolton would.  
  


~⸹⸹⸹~  
  


Roose had just begun to relax after he'd shed everything but his tunic and breeches, hearing frantic knocking on his door. Irritably looking at it, he almost ignored it before deciding it _might_ just be important enough to heed.

He opened his door and ended up staring dumbfounded.

It was only a moment and he quickly wiped the look off his face, reaching forward and taking Lady Sansa away from the other, both of his unexpected visitors looking breathless. His soldier looked as frantic as his knocking implied, while Lady Sansa was an absolute mess.

"Go to Maester Wolkan!" he snapped at the other man. "Tell him to come here!"

"Yes, my Lord!"

Roose closed the door angrily, before he more gently reached to hold Lady Sansa up more, gaining a better hold on her so that he could more easily move to carry her. As he carried her to his bed, he made himself focus on breathing more calmly.

The sight behind his door had effectively killed any of his irritability, unexpected and unwanted as it was, and instead he was filled with fury.

Godsdamned his fucking bastard —could he not keep his hands off of his —

Roose could not even acknowledge Lady Sansa as wedded to his bastard in his mind. The very idea of having to call her wife to some other man, his bastard no less, grated heavily on him.

Lady Sansa was gasping lightly, whimpers escaping as she attempted to practically bury her face against his chest, the softness of her skin sliding against his skin from where his tunic had parted. Her small, slim hands grasped at the front of his tunic, holding him close.

He could not remember ever having a woman desperately cling to him, to want him so close and need him like this.

He could say it took him aback and surprised him, but it also made him pleased and content. His fury simmered in the back of his mind, but at the moment, he enjoyed her closeness and the way she seemed to need him.

"Let me lay you down, Lady Sansa," he murmured to her, trying to make her let go for the moment so he could lay her on the bed.

But she clung tight. "Please, L-Lord Bolton," she stuttered out, eyes closed tightly.

He paused before he then maneuvered them so that he sat down on the bed first and lay down with her, holding onto her still.

"Roose," she gasped out, trembling in his arms.

He froze and stared down at her in shock.

Roose breathed in sharply, running a hand softly down her watching her. There was an unnamed something rising in him, a strange unfathomable feeling that wanted to hold on as tightly to him as she did.

" _Sansa_."

Started 3/2/20 – Completed 3/20/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I…have nothing to say, aside from hey! Just picture murdering Ramsay in your heads? He'll get his, er…eventually. At least I'll probably not leave you guys for long, given my lockdown status in CA ;-; I will hopefully be productive for you all!
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. You know, I knew I eventually wanted them to start in on their first names, but hadn't a place or scene to start that, and the end of this chapter came all of a sudden and I thought it was perfect~ When writing goes your way, people…
> 
> 2\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa). Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight, and now Be Still, Heart.


	7. Take My Heart, Take My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Sansa's injuries being mentioned and alluding to Ramsay's actions.
> 
> Playlist:  
> Closer by Mark/tronious (youtube cover) (Kings of Leon cover

In her sleep, she trembled. Her beauty was never in question though, even with her red hair matted against her skin and breath shuddering every few seconds.

Roose watched, thought, and breathed alongside her, his body slotted right into the spot next to hers.

He didn't think he could ever be so _consumed_ with the thought of his name, just his _name_ , being said by another.

But when Sansa (for he could never again just think of her as Lady Sansa, even in his head) said his name, everything just seemed to collapse in on himself and all he could think of was _Sansa_ , _Sansa_ , _Sansa_ …

Everything converged on him. _Everything_.

The way she said his name, the fact she'd said it…He could never hear anything else from her. Even being called her lord husband couldn't compare. All he wanted was for her to say his name once more.

And to be able to call her Sansa in return.

"What have you done to me?" he muttered, watching her intently, even as she slept on.

The knocking on the door made him clench his jaw, but he got off the bed to open the door, revealing Maester Wolkan on the other side.

"About time," he snapped out, but knew that it hadn't been that long since he'd had his man retrieve the Maester after he'd taken Sansa in.

Maester Wolkan hurried in, eyes immediately taking in the unconscious figure of the lady laying on Roose's bed. He glanced hesitantly at Roose, but he ignored the older man.

"Lord Bolton, I will need to examine her thoroughly. Her robe will need to be taken off —perhaps we should call in a handmaiden?"

"I will take care of it," he answered in an abrupt tone, not wanting to waste time.

Maester Wolkan couldn't hide his shock and was further hesitant, but Roose merely stared at him coolly until the man nodded. Then Roose strode over to Sansa and carefully lifted her up, gingerly disrobing her and letting her bare body lay back down.

Though he took a moment, even then, to appreciate her, he didn't dally and allowed the Maester to do his job, yet still tense to have another lay their hands and eyes on _his_ Sansa.

Even worse though, were the bruises littering her hips and waist, hand-shaped and mottled together. There were bruises around her arms, her legs, and he could now see she'd bit her lip hard enough to bleed. Around one of her wrists was a hand-shaped bruise that looked like it had hurt her wrist enough to have broken it.

"Her wrist?" he immediately brought up after noticing it, and Maester Wolkan gingerly took said wrist and examined it.

"Not broken," he said to Roose's relief. "But very fragile. It should be pained for at least a full day and I'll need to wrap it. She should be careful with it for a few days, so as to not worsen it."

"And the rest of her?" he asked in agitation.

"Bruises, very severe bruising all over her body. Nothing broken thankfully, though the ribs she'd injured before might have taken a setback. Maybe not —they'd been doing quite well these past few days, it looks, and seemed like they were healing quite fine."

"The bite marks and cuts?" Roose finally acknowledged, lips pressed into a tight line angrily.

"The cuts are shallow," the Maester sighed. "And will heal along with the bruises. The bite marks too will heal, though careful watch will be needed. Her wounds will need to be cleaned frequently."

Roose saw him hesitate again. "What is it?" he asked coldly and the Maester flinched.

"My Lord…I will need to examine her for damage down there."

Roose's pale eyes eyed him darkly and made Maester Wolkan stiffen, but neither changed their stance. Maester Wolkan knew it had to be done and Roose was still unhappy at it.

Anger simmering in the back of his mind, at what the Maester had to do and what Ramsay's rough actions were implied to have done or could've done, Roose went for Sansa's unconscious body and gently pulled her closer to the edge of the bed and then reluctantly spread her legs. Watching the Maester closely, he said nothing as the other poked and prodded her down there, peering inside of Sansa and obviously thinking.

"Well?" he snapped out, all his calmness and usual disposition having left him for that night. After receiving Sansa into his room the way she was, he had no inclinations of being calm or pleased at anything.

"She's not bleeding and I see no tears, nor felt any like I had after her wedding night," the Maester answered, the one calm to Roose's fury. And what was he doing, bringing up her wedding night? Reminding him? Guilting him?

"She'll still likely be sore there, after her lord husband's rough treatment," Maester Wolkan told him.

"Don't call my bastard her lord husband in my presence again," his jaw clenched.

Maester Wolkan paused. "Of course, my Lord. Lord Ramsay's ill treatment of her body is taking a toll on her however, I believe. If I may suggest to him that he…leave her alone for awhile…"

"I will have it done," Roose's voice turned absolutely chilly. "Is that all?"

"Yes, my Lord," he bowed. "I shall leave what she needs here and take my leave."

Roose dismissed him and then went back to Sansa, resettling her properly on the bed. Forgoing the robe, he retrieved one of his tunics and dressed her in it. It would be warmer than the robe and still be comfortable, especially against her injuries.

And it pleased him to see her in his clothing.

"Rest well, Sansa," he murmured. "I will have things taken cared of."  
  


~⸹⸹⸹~

  
His bastard was scowling, having been roused from sleep.

"Father, what is it —"

"Have him thrown into a cell," Roose ordered the guards by his sides.

Ramsay's eyes widened and stared at him in shock. "What? What for? What did I do, Father?"

"I've warned you of your treatment of your lady wife," Roose narrowed his eyes at his bastard. "I've warned you and now you'll see what happens when _I am disobeyed_."

"But I haven't damaged her!" Ramsay protested. "She's fine! I left her entirely intact!"

Roose almost struck him again. His hand twitched as if it was going to do so and he had to clench it into a fist. Instead, he looked to his guards.

"He is not to be spoken to or fed until I've said so," he told them severely, giving them warning looks. "Make sure the others know of that. Anyone who disobeys me will join him in a cell."

He turned back to Ramsay and strode over to him, grasping his bastard's neck and squeezing slightly, hearing him choke.

"You will stay there until Lady Sansa is healed," he said harshly. "You will be released only when _I_ say so."

By the Gods, it was so tempting to just do away with Ramsay. If Domeric was still alive…if he had another son to lay claim to being Roose's heir…

He should have had him killed the moment that whore gave birthed to him.  
  


~⸹⸹⸹~

  
When Sansa woke up, she found she was alone. She didn't let herself linger on the fact she was in the lord's chambers, which meant (as she remembered) the guard had taken her to Lord Bolton's rooms.

Lord Bolton, who she had called out to as _Roose_.

She slipped sometimes in her mind, calling him familiarly by his name. But never had his name passed her lips like it had before she'd passed out.

And then _he'd_ said _her name_.

Recalling it made her shiver, not unpleasantly. The raw timbre of his voice, the way it rolled on his tongue…

She thought she could never hear her name again without thinking of it in his voice.

Out of her thoughts and into reality, the door opened to reveal Lord Bolton coming into his chambers, eyes alighting immediately onto her. She shifted uncertainly on the bed, realizing only too late of her mostly undressed state and that what she did wear was just a tunic. His tunic.

"You're awake," he said softly, coming into the room after closing the door behind him. "How do you feel?"

"Tired, sore. Pained in some areas, Lord Bolton," she answered.

"My name," he said sharply, causing her to flinch. He came over slowly and gentled his tone. "I would like you to use my name, _Sansa_."

And there it was again —her name out of his mouth, a caress against her skin and a hook in her mind.

"Roose," she murmured, staring up at him as he leaned over her. To say his name though, like this, in his chambers, alone…

This was another level of intimacy they were crossing and she wasn't sure where they were heading, if she ever had.

He sat down next to her, leaning over her prone body. "Maester Wolkan has informed me of your injuries. I had to remove your robe and leave you bare for him to examine, but I made sure nothing untoward happened. Your bruises were the main worries and you will be sore for a while, but there was also cause for concern regarding…Ramsay's roughness regarding your coupling. The Maester left me with what is needed to help you recover."

She took a deep shuddering breath, feeling like her body was heavy and aching everywhere.

"Will you help me to my room, L —Roose?" she corrected herself. It brought a small smile to his lips and she wondered at that.

"My name in your voice is lovely," he purred, making her cheeks warm. "But you'll stay here, Sansa," he said then. "I'll not have you stressing yourself or further worsening your condition."

"Ramsay," she bit out, closing her eyes. "He —"

"Has been taken cared of," Roose said firmly. "He won't be bothering you and you will recover first. In the meantime, I shall be taking care of you."

She blinked, watching him. She didn't know whether in shock, wariness, or relief or something else. Something must've shone in her eyes though, because Roose lay down beside her and cradled her face, turning it to face him so they could look eye to eye.

"I _will_ take care of you," he said firmly, stressing it. "You are my lady. You _should_ have been my lady wife. And I will take care of you as if you are."

She swallowed, unsure what to say to that. This man was not the man she expected or would think of before, when she had heard of The Red Wedding. She expected a monster, a man capable of betraying his King and personally shoving the dagger into Robb's heart.

But this man wasn't him. And if he was, then it was a different person that faced her to that man, and he wasn't the monster to her like she expected, one to be worse than even Ramsay. Maybe she couldn't trust him, or whatever this is, but she did know that she was starved for a kind touch and any affection she could have.

So Sansa took his hand, cradled against her face, and brought it low, tentatively pushing under the tunic she wore. His eyes, beautiful for a man like him, flickered down to their hands and then back to her face, though he said nothing.

"It hurts," she muttered. "Down there."

His hand moved from hers and cupped her slit, holding his hand firmly over her mound. He didn't move it, keeping it there, and she felt the warmth of his hand against her.

"Does that hurt?"

"…No," she whispered.

"I won't hurt you," he said and she actually believed him.

Sansa allowed herself to shift closer to him, feeling his hand firm against her. She closed her eyes, letting him hold her to him and feeling the warmth of his hand against her, steady and not at all painful.

Started 4/4/20 – Completed 4/5/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So short, but lots of progress between the two at least! Plus, next chapter, things get even more smutty ;D Enjoy your snack, my lovelies! I'll be back with more soon~ Let me know what you guys like or would like to see!
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. Sansa's name and Roose's voice: I forgot to gush about this last chapter, but while Roose's voice is sexy as hell and all…but when he says Sansa's name? Like damn XD
> 
> 2\. Um yeah…Ramsay's days seemed numbered…
> 
> 3\. Roose is a complicated man. He is also still an asshole. Just saying XD
> 
> 4\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa). Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight, Be Still, Heart and now Drinks on Me, Beads on You.


	8. If I'm No Longer Young and Beautiful

When she awoke, she felt his hand still held against her womanhood —warm, firm, steady. Like a guard to her entrance, refusing entry to that that didn't belong inside her. Or to those.

He was still sleeping, she knew. Lord —Roose had her held against him, broad chest pressed against her back while his arm was around her and his hand kept cupping her in his sleep. His other arm cushioned her neck and stretched out straight, allowing her to stare at his other hand, wanting to touch it. So she reached out slowly, fingertips grazing the palm of his hand, the lines of it, feeling the calluses…

She felt him take a deep breath behind her, waking as she moved, and felt him bury his face against her hair, rubbing against it.

"You are awake?" he asked, voice throaty from sleep still. The sound of it made her shiver and bite down on her lip.

"I have only been awake not too long since you have awoken," she said, daring to continue her fingertips' movement against his hand.

It was soothing, she thought, and a good distraction from her situation.

"How do you feel?"

She focused on her body, trying to sort out how she was.

"Sore," she answered once more tiredly to his familiar question. "Pained in plenty of places."

He didn't answer for a moment, but then his hand squeezed her womanhood and his lips pressed against her shoulder. Her breath hitched as he let his fingers move over her slit, gentle and not at all in the way Ramsay would let his fingers sharply prod or swipe around, careless and painfully. No, Roose's touch was thoughtful, slow sweeps, a drag of his fingertips against her opening and around her lower lips, a teasing brush against her nub that had her gasp loudly.

"Do you like this, Sansa?" he asked, voice rough and more awake, breath hot against her skin.

"Yes," she answered breathily, eyes fluttering.

It still throbbed inside from Ramsay's rough treatment, but pleasure was beginning to mingle with the lingering pain, mixing and taking away from the memories of hurt.

"Do you want me to slip a finger inside you?" he asked and she bit her lip, considering it.

"I don't know," she muttered. The few times Ramsay had done so had hurt.

"Hold still and let me," Roose pressed another kiss to her shoulder and she felt one of his fingers pressed against her opening.

She inhaled sharply, wanting to tense, but she forced herself to relax as she knew it hurt even worse when she was too tense. However, Roose pressed his finger against her opening and didn't push it in. When she relaxed against him, he pressed his finger in a little more, slipping in the tip and then slowly until it was inside of her passed his knuckle and then completely slid in.

He hadn't forced his finger in, hadn't just jabbed into her carelessly. He hadn't been inconsiderate of her at all, even now just keeping his finger in her and not moving. His finger stayed in her, wrapped in the warmth of her inner walls.

"It would probably be too much to properly finger you, after Ramsay's attentions to you down there, so I'll unfortunately have to show you another time how it should make you feel," Roose said in disappointment. "But I promise you, I will. For now, I just wanted to show you it doesn't have to hurt doing this."

"It doesn't," she said quietly, surprised and oddly grateful.

"Good," he said, slipping away from her and leaving her wanting his warmth and his touch. "There _is_ something I can do that will make you feel good, but won't require any prodding inside of your cunt. Well, not with anything _too_ hard."

The crude word for her womanhood had her blushing hotly, more so as she caught eyes with Roose, seeing him start to grin wickedly. He moved down her body, settling himself between her legs.

"What…what are you going to do?" she asked, eyes growing wide and too unsure of what he was going to do.

His wicked grin only widened. "Have you heard of a Lord's Kiss?"

Sansa stared at him, shaking her head slowly.

"Then it'll be my pleasure to introduce it to you, _Sansa_ ," her name from him tore a shudder from her, but then she lost her breath as she saw him lower himself to her womanhood, the tip of his tongue only briefly flitting out and teasing a touch to her slit.

"L-Lord Bolton!" she squealed, shocked out of her mind.

He looked up at her from hooded eyes, mouth opened slightly and too close to her womanhood. She could _feel_ his breath against her, and it made her womanhood ache —in a _good_ way. Which had never happened to her before…

"Lord —Roose," she corrected herself, trying to shy away, but his hands suddenly shot up to her thighs, gripping them tightly but not painfully. Not like Ramsay would have done. "I don't understand —"

"Just relax and let me do this," he murmured and then, without waiting for another word, lowered his face to her again and pressed a soothing kiss against her womanhood. And then she felt his mouth open wide and cover her suddenly leaking slit, embarrassing her. She didn't know what she was more embarrassed by; Roose doing something like this, an act she had no idea could be done and feel so good, or the fact that she'd just made water on herself and on _him_!

"Oh Gods!" she covered her face, unable to not have her hips jerk forward, seeking more. "I am so sorry! I-I made water —"

"Sh, sh," Roose shushed her, still focused, his tongue tracing her lower lips and then dipping inside of her, curling in. "Becoming wet is only right, Sansa. It's how you should become once you have been properly pleasured. It is supposed to help prepare your body," he said once he pulled away, admiring her glistening folds. "Mm, yes, just like this. Utterly beautiful, my Lady."

He licked his lips slowly, looking completely exalted. It made Sansa flush red all over, feeling hot and flustered.

"I'm going to make sure my little red wolf enjoys herself," he all but purred and then more heatedly pressed his mouth back onto her, causing her to squeal again as his tongue invaded her womanhood and he was practically devouring her.

He suckled gently before he was burying his face against her womanhood, tongue flattening against her slit before he ended up licking at her mound like it was a sweet he couldn't get enough of. She was moaning wantonly, embarrassed but unable to control her own reactions. She had never felt this way, had never been treated in this manner. Nothing could compare to this and this man was actually willing to service her in this way.

One of his hands moved from her thigh to hover above where Roose was thrusting his tongue in and out of her womanhood, touching her skin and caressing lightly before, without warning, one of his fingers found her pearl and began teasingly touching it. A whimper escaped her and she unconsciously spread herself wider, allowing him to dig his tongue deeper into her.

More and more, he began moving his tongue inside of her harder and faster while his finger rubbed her pearl in furious movements that had her crying out, unable to think anymore past the pleasure she was feeling. All the aches of before lingered in the back of her mind, pleasure overriding her body's pain for the moment while Roose wrung her out with his mouth alone, sucking harder and harder until her hips jerked up and she pushed up against him, feeling her womanhood gush out some sort of wetness as she rode out waves of intense pleasure. In turn, Roose actually pressed his mouth harder against her, suckling still and almost seeming to drink from her.

When she finally calmed down, her body boneless and relaxed, he helped lower her body to lay flat against the bed, briefly following to lap up whatever was left leaking or clinging to her lower lips and around her slit. He smoothly moved to rejoin her in bed, laying by her side and looking all too satisfied.

"I don't usually partake, but I wouldn't mind enjoying such fine wine as that every night," he smirked and it took a moment for her to register and understand his words.

A new flood of embarrassment crashed into her and she hid her face against his chest, her hands halfheartedly pushing him.

"R-Roose!"

He just chuckled into her ear and pulled her closer to him, and feeling too relaxed and tired from his ministrations, Sansa couldn't help falling back to sleep.

~⸹⸹⸹~

When Sansa awoke again, light was entering the room from the windows and she could guess that morning had come. Her body was aching and she frowned, knowing that she would be feeling that way a while, until whatever Ramsay had inflicted on her had healed. But, feeling the warm hand that had slipped under the tunic she wore (and which had bunched up around mid-stomach) and had cupped one of her breasts, she remembered what had happened last night. Her cheeks warmed, more so as she realized that Roose had pulled her closer to him. And as she opened her eyes and tilted her head over to him, she saw that he was sleeping still.

In the silence and stillness of the room, she observed him and thought long and hard. This was Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort. He had a reputation that was as frightening to her as Ramsay. He had done terrible, terrible things, especially to her family. He was in league with the Lannisters, who she had run from. And he had also married her to Ramsay, the only person she could actually claim to hate (well, who was alive).

But he was also the most gentlest person to her, ever since she'd lost most of her family and had been stuck with strangers who wanted to claim her, own her, all for the sake of what she 'valued'.

He had not harmed her himself, instead taking care to be gentle and _kind_ , taking care of _her_ when she was broken down by his bastard. He'd actively and earnestly set out to show her that pain was not all she would know, and had gladly given her pleasure in return for seemingly nothing but her own attentions. She did not understand him, but she knew she did need him.

He was the key to her survival and most of all, to living in this new North that didn't seem to need the Starks anymore.

And…as she bit down on her lip and stretched herself up, closer to him…perhaps it wasn't so bad, not hard to allow him this. To let him have her as he wanted, not if it meant that she knew —for once in her life —that her body could sing as it did last night, that pleasure was something that was attainable and not some far off dream.

As her face grew closer to his and her heart raced in her chest, she tentatively thought that he wasn't actually someone she minded as much as she should've.

Then he slowly opened his eyes, blinking at her with those mesmerizing orbs, and she shied away from him.

"I see you are awake," Roose took a deep breath, rolling his neck. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she said quietly, watching him carefully.

"And how do you feel?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"Sore," she answered, making him frown. "But I feel wonderful at the same time still," she blushed, more so when that made Roose look pleased.

"Maester Wolkan did say you'd feel sore for a while," he noted, frowning to himself again. "Let me see your wrist."

Surprised, she did as he ordered and watched him examine the wrist that looked dark with Ramsay's hand-shaped bruise.

"You'll have to be careful with this wrist," he said with a clench of his jaw. "Does it hurt?"

"It does," she winced after he prodded a finger to it and she instinctively tried to jerk it away from him. He held fast though.

"It'll hurt for a day, but I imagine the pain will lessen with each day that passes. I'll rewrap it after you have your bath." Roose moved his hand over to where her injured ribs had been. "How about here? Does your ribs still pain you?"

He pressed down and she winced, but it wasn't hurting like it had been.

"It's not as bad as it was," she told him. "I think they're fine, though the outside is a bit battered."

"The bruises on your skin will heal easily," he replied, though his eyebrows furrowed together. "Not that they belonged on you in the first place," he muttered darkly, expression echoing his tone.

It made her shiver, though she knew it was not meant to reflect on her.

He brushed back her hair before starting to move away, slipping off of the bed. He rolled his neck once more, before he turned to her.

"I will set up the bath —stay in bed until then," he told her firmly and he left her to the adjoining chamber, where she knew housed the large tub meant for the Lord of the castle. Her mother's chambers, though smaller, were similar and connected to here.

Nevertheless, her father had spent less time here and mostly stayed with her mother in her chambers, which relieved Sansa and helped her to not feel so bothered about being in here and what had transpired not so long ago, with her and Roose.

It wasn't long until Roose came back and though she tried to slip off of the bed herself, Roose had reached her side quickly and was even quicker to scoop her into his arms, carrying her off to the prepared bath.

"I quite like the privacy of having a tub already set here in my chambers, large enough to house you and I, and easily prepared by myself and with no need for servants to come bother, especially with easy access to hot water —such a thing is not available in the Dreadfort."

"There are hot pipes all over the castle," Sansa murmured. "They connect to the hot springs."

"Do they?" he raised an eyebrow at her, testing the water again before he slowly lowered her into the tub. "I had no idea."

"It's why the castle can stay warm enough, even if it's freezing cold outside," she said softly. She bit her lip before she tentatively teased him. "If you behave, I might show you where the hot springs are."

He chuckled, kneeling by her outside of the tub. "Are you sure you don't want me to _misbehave_?" he teased back, drawing in close to her and tracing her lips with the pad of his thumb.

She grew all flustered, which in turn made him smirk at her and look too pleased with himself.

"Lean back," he told her, already wetting a cloth and then rubbing some soap and spilling oils on it. She did so and lifted a leg when he told her to, and watched as he carefully washed her, wiping the cloth across her skin firmly and yet not aggravating her injuries.

Sansa bit her lip watching him, seeing the concentrated look on his face. Even as she enjoyed this, she was confused —and just a bit terrified. Even after _everything_ , she couldn't forget who this was. And that was part of her confusion.

Lord Roose Bolton caring for her, washing her gently, despite being known as one of the cruelest men to live and calmly accepting of murder, with a son as sadistic as Ramsay.

She didn't know what that said of her mindset right now, but she certainly had absolutely no idea of _his_.

"If I were not so young and beautiful, would you have found me as enticing as you did?" she asked in a quiet murmur, clutching her hands on the side of the tub before laying her head on them, gazing at him in contemplation. "If I grow older, would you still find me beautiful?"

She stayed quiet, watching him still. He was just as quiet, finishing with her foot before laying it back into the water. Then they locked eyes and she waited.

"When you walked into the courtyard that day," he began, his usual soft-spoken voice making her shiver, "you were but the only thing that mattered," he admitted and she looked at him in shock. "You walked in with all the bearing of a queen, and you looked as if all the gods in the world had taken care to create some mortal with the looks of one of them. Even as you grow old, I doubt you would become any less beautiful. Even if somehow your looks were marred, then or even now, your utter presence is captivating, Sansa Stark."

He did not call her a Bolton or acknowledge any attachment to her to his House, and she found she was relieved about that.

"Looking back to that moment though," he lifted up her other leg and began to run the cloth over it, "I am disappointed, more than ever, that I had married you to my bastard and I couldn't have married you myself."

To him once again claiming that, Sansa closed her eyes and tried not to imagine that happening instead. Wondering what if would do her no good, as it would never be her reality.

For all that she was confused and terrified of this man, she could not help being drawn to him either.

With her eyes closed, she didn't see but felt him put her leg back and then grasp her shoulders, moving her to face away from him as he cleaned her back. She let go of the tub to do as he'd silently wanted, but she silently mourned what she could've had.

Perhaps she would have hated him and be just as angry if they had married instead…but she would have been ignorant of what marriage to Ramsay would have been like. In hindsight…

"I wish I could've picked which monster I could've married," she murmured.

He surprised her when his lips touched her temple.

"I would not have been a monster to you."

And Sansa actually believed that to be truth.

When she finished with her bath, he'd picked her up from it after having her stand up, and carried her back to the bedchamber, where he further dried her and then lay her on her bed. Feeling vulnerable with no clothing on, she covered herself with a sheet as Roose found the tray of food that had been laid out near the bed.

"We'll break our fast here," he said, bringing the tray closer to her. "Then you must rest while I go check the going-ons of the castle."

"When will you return?" she asked.

"At midday meal," he told her. "Here, eat."

He settled beside her, handing her one of the slices of bread that had been slathered lightly with honey. She reluctantly let go of the sheet to accept it.

"The honey should help your throat, if it's still feeling sore," he said. "You must eat more to gain strength and hurry your recovery."

"We should watch our rations," Sansa murmured, glancing at the food.

"I'll be looking over our rations later," he informed her.

"Will you let me know of how things are?" she hesitantly asked.

"Of course," he said, surprising her. "You are important to the handling of the castle and the North," he admitted. "You were of great import these past days and were quite efficient."

Curious and feeling a little brave, she questioned him a little more. "Is it much different handling the Dreadfort?"

Roose took a piece of grape and rolled it around his fingers, not answering straight away.

"It's…different," he finally agreed. "Without a lady wife for a long awhile, I'd managed my fortress on my own. In some ways it's different and in some ways the same…if a bit more expanded here. At the Dreadfort, it's smaller and more fortified, and focused more on security, than overall tending to the people and its lands, as well as my bannermen, even if there was still some focus on those. But with being Warden of the North and with Winterfell, there is…more _people_ , more _responsibilities_ , more _expectations_ …more everything."

There was a look of chagrin that briefly crossed his face that she knew she hadn't meant to catch, so she didn't call him out on it. He looked to her then though, considering her.

"There are also still opposition to me and the lack of acceptance to my reign as Warden," Roose said. "I thought having you married to Ramsay would help things along, but…"

She stiffened up, watching him warily. "But?"

He popped the grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, surprisingly turning to look amused.

"The Northmen are a stubborn lot, though why _I'm_ shocked at that, I'm not sure, as a Northerner myself," he smirked and shook his head, though it made her feel off kilter.

"I thought you'd be a lot more upset," she said carefully.

"I was," he affirmed. "But currently I'm a lot more amused at the situation. You're to blame."

She grew flustered, staring at him bewildered, more so as he kept looking amused and smirking at her.

"I do wonder," his face became thoughtful again, once again scrutinizing her. "How things could have turned out differently if you'd been Queen in the North instead…" he ended in his soft voice and she licked her lips uncertainly, feeling oddly shy now.

She focused away from him, nibbling her honeyed bread. "I would've been horrible," she muttered.

"Somehow I doubt that."

She glanced at him in trepidation, but he was already looking far off while picking at the assortment of fruit.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Roose had just completed his rounds when, reluctantly, he remembered his lady wife and decided he should at least pay a quick visit to her and see to any of her needs.

With a few inquiries, he heard that she was meandering around the remains of the glass garden. Confused and just a bit wary, he headed there and spotted Lady Walda bumbling about, holding onto something.

"Lady Walda, is there something I can help you around here with?" he asked, keeping his voice even, though it tinged a bit bored.

She jumped in fright, hurriedly facing him. In her hands were familiar Northern flowers —Winter Roses. He kept the surprise out of his face, but he wondered why she was looking in the glass garden for them and gathering them up. Or at least whatever she could find of them still left.

"I-it's fine, my Lord," she stammered, clutching the flowers. "I was just trying to find Winter Roses and gather them up for Lady Sansa."

He blinked at that and then looked closer at his lady wife, just barely refraining narrowing his eyes at her.

"I-I know she's unwell," Lady Walda said trembling. "And th-that your s-son hurt her. I wanted t-to get her some flowers to cheer her up, especially since she's been so kind to me," she ended, her voice a bit stronger, though she still didn't look straight into Roose's eyes. "Winter Roses remind me of her eyes. They're both pretty blues, Lord Bolton."

Roose agreed with that. Though he thought Sansa's eyes reflected Valyrian steel most of the time, as they began to thaw and even warm towards him, their color was the loveliest of blue and comparable to Winter Roses indeed.

"She'd like that," he said lightly, giving her an approving look. "Would you like me to hand them to her?"

"Would you?" Lady Walda beamed at him. "I'd truly appreciate it, Lord Bolton! Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, you could even tell her I've progressed well through the books she'd had me learn to read! I am almost done. I've just a couple left."

He accepted the gathered bouquet of Winter Roses and nodded, deciding he felt kind enough to pass on the message. But then Lady Walda turned serious, making him inwardly tense.

"She's staying in your chambers, yes?" she prodded, causing Roose to frown at her. But then she surprised him again. "Please keep her there and look after her," she implored him. "I would hope her to recover quickly and be safe, and though I know he is your son, I would that for now, she could stay away from him…"

"Ramsay will not be bothering her anytime soon," he said sharply, making her wince. "And yes, Lady Sansa is recovering in my chambers."

Lady Walda actually smiled widely at that. "I am glad." She then gave him a knowing look, still smiling. "Please continue to be kind to her and take care of her, Lord Bolton."

Roose decided to acknowledge her and nodded in agreement, also acknowledging that his own lady wife knew about his regards towards Sansa.

"She is the only one who cares for me here," Lady Walda said honestly. "I don't want to lose her any more than you do."

Though he ignored and pretended not to hear that last part from her, he again acknowledged (if silently this time) the truth of the first part of her words.

Including the fact that he himself did not care for her, and they both knew it.

When he thought to head back to Sansa for the midday meal, he decided that he should stop by the cells and make sure that his orders were being followed. Seeing Steelshanks, he walked over.

"Steelshanks," he greeted neutrally. He glanced at the row of cells behind them. "Has he been trouble?"

"Just yelling and making a fuss, demanding to talk to you," Steelshanks snorted. "He's been ignored, my Lord."

"Good," he said firmly, stopping himself from curling his lip. Just remembering his bastard's actions angered him and made him almost march straight to Ramsay's cell to show him just who was in charge in this castle. "Continue to watch over him and make sure no one dares to even speak to my bastard."

"As you wish, Lord Bolton," Steelshanks saluted him.

Roose then left him behind, heading to the kitchens to get a meal for him and Sansa ready, and then walked the way back to his chambers, where he saw her lightly curled up on his bed, reading a book that he'd left there.

"If I may interrupt your reading, my Lady," he said softly and she looked up to see him, and he ended up catching sight of her eyes.

Yes, Lady Walda had it right. They were utterly blue and beautiful, and Winter Roses did indeed match them.

He held up said Winter Roses. "For you," he told her. "I'll have a vase sent here later, but I thought to give them to you."

Idly, the thought that he could selfishly claim them as a gift from him was tempting, but he also knew it would not be a chore for Sansa to find out the truth of things and she would believe Lady Walda over him in any case.

"Lady Walda spent time earlier gathering these for you," he said, wishing he'd had the forethought to do something similar, especially when she let loose a bright, happy smile at that. While irritated he was not the cause of it, he was at least content to know he was the only one to bear witness to it.

"They're beautiful," Sansa began to slowly sit up and he strode over to help her. She reached for the flowers after, taking them in hand and smelling them. "I'd always thought they were beautiful. I just didn't think any survived after everything. Please thank her for me?"

"I will let her know you appreciate them," Roose agreed. "I've some food for you. The faster you regain strength, the easier your body can recover."

"How long will that be?" she asked, wary suddenly.

He frowned, watching her closely. "Hopefully not too long," he said carefully and saw her shoulders bunch up. "I wouldn't want you to hurt and endure that pain for a long while," he continued, but his mind was already piecing things together.

Roose put aside the flowers and sat next to her on the bed, grasping her hands.

"Do you fear Ramsay?" he asked, keeping his tone soft and careful, though he trained his eyes intently on her face.

Ramsay was a problem. He should have dealt with his bastard a long time ago —if he had, perhaps Domeric would still be alive. Perhaps he would not have chosen to double cross his King then —

His mind shut down the thought immediately and instead he focused on the Stark in front of him. Sansa, with her beautiful blue eyes, her plump, trembling lips…

Distracted, his eyes were drawn to those lips and he had the urge to nip at them, kiss them tenderly, before devouring them in a kiss that would heat her alive.

"R-Roose?" she asked, voice uncertain.

He would never get tired of hearing his name from her. It would never get old to him and he was likely to enjoy it even when she was screaming it at him in anger.

"Eat," he said hoarsely, pulling himself out of his thoughts and focusing on her now and then. Her health was important and must be recovered quickly, especially with the winter settling in as it was.

Winter in the North was cruel as it was, but this winter was shaping up to be the worse that it has been in centuries.

It was almost unnatural.

"You asked if I fear Ramsay," she started quietly and his thoughts halted as he paid all of his attention on her. "Fear, hate, anger…some days that is all I feel, most days it's centered on him, some days it's not. Some days I feel those towards a home that is no longer home, some days those feelings are directed towards what my life has become. And some days…some days they're directed at you…though I admit that was… _before_ all this," she added, frowning and thankfully blushing a bit, which softened the words.

She looked away from him, eyes growing glassy as she stared off.

"Some days, those feelings are all too familiarly directed towards myself."

Roose did not know the details of her imprisonment and circumstances at King's Landing, and even now, he did not know all the details of her life _here_. But he did know she was here, with him, and that is something he could do about.

Putting aside everything, he shifted to move behind her and let his hands rest on her shoulders. Like before, he kneaded them firmly but gently, adjusting his hands to account for her soreness and injuries. She made an approving, content noise that encouraged him, and he kissed her behind her ear.

"I have Ramsay handled," he told her, moving his hands higher and firmly digging his fingers into her neck and then higher into her scalp.

"For now," she mused aloud, almost like she was talking to herself and was becoming lost in thought.

He frowned to himself, but there was some truth to her words that he didn't want to think about.

Part of him wanted to keep Ramsay where he was indefinitely, but that was unfeasible. He was still technically Roose's heir and he was his only child, much less son. He had no other bastards (thank Gods) coming out of the woodworks, and the few times in the early part of his marriage to Lady Walda where he'd slept with her had yet to conceive any future heirs.

While relieved at that (part of him wanted none but Sansa to bear him an heir), the idea of immediately replacing Ramsay was enticing. Then again, so long as Ramsay was around, any potential heirs were at risk of being murdered, whether birthed by Lady Walda or Sansa.

"If I could replace him, I would," he said suddenly, wanting her to at least know his stance. "I would've wanted more than anything to have Domeric be alive and continue to be my heir. But he'd been foolish enough to seek out his 'half-brother' against my wishes."

She turned her head slightly, peering at him under long lashes.

"Then perhaps I should pray to the Gods that Lady Walda conceives quickly."

His hands stilled against her shoulders, having worked his way down again. Unbidden, one of his hands trailed to her stomach and held frozen against, imagining his babe growing in her instead.

"I'm not your lady wife," she reminded and he took in a deep breath, wrapping his arms around her and moving to bury his face against her neck.

Lemon and lavender. She smelled fragrant, sweet but not overpowering. Hungrily, he opened his mouth and began to suckle her skin, letting his tongue move around in lazy circles against her neck. He unfolded his arms enough that he slipped his hands down to the edge of the tunic she wore, moving under them to skim against the softness of her skin, her taut stomach flexing as his fingers briefly touched against them.

Finding her breasts, he reluctantly moved his mouth away to hurriedly shuck off his tunic from her body, letting his eyes roam across her bared skin, the heaving of her full breasts drawing him.

Oh, but how he'd thought of them often, more so after the first quick glimpse over what seemed so long ago, when he'd first propositioned her. Rounded milky white globes with pale pink peaks that taunted him, begged him to take them into his mouth…

He cupped them in his hands, marveling how they fit barely, and yet big enough that they still slightly overspilled. Her lush curves had always made him watch her too closely, and it had been more than he could bear then. Now though? Now he was allowed all sorts of liberties, allowed to be able to touch them as he willed.

His ears were adept at catching the change to her breathing, quickened and yet still silent. He wanted her to enjoy this as much as he was.

Roose hummed in pleasure as he teasingly brushed the pads of his thumbs against her nipples, watching them hardened more. He licked his lips, tempted, oh so very _tempted_.

"Would you let me fondle your lovely breasts, my Lady?" he teased. "They're so lovely and perfect for fondling."

To his amusement, she grew flustered and tried to answer, if only to sputter and come up with nothing to say.

"I-if you say, my Lord," she answered finally, and he was pleased that he'd managed to divert her attention away from thoughts of Ramsay.

"Good," he said smugly. "I'll enjoy myself then."

Her face grew red then and she looked as if she didn't know whether to continue being flustered or throw him a dirty look. At the end, she ended with an odd mix of the two.

Roose pulled her gently onto his lap and against him, embracing her enough that he was still able to grab onto her breasts, palming them as he relaxed against her. He played with her breasts contentedly, making her squirm, and decided that he wouldn't mind ending his night like this.

Started 4/15/20 – Completed 5/16/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! This should've come out a long, long time ago –I honestly don't know why I keep putting it off. First I kept putting off the editing after I finally finished the chapter, then I kept putting off updating because I hadn't done author notes and kept getting distracted/busy doing something else…Geez, I'm just glad to finally be done with this and get it out! I hope y'all enjoyed it and see how these two are progressing lol. Haha, I do miss these two and writing them XD (This is now 1/17/21 --I procrastinated again after doing all these notes for months until it's the next year. I am so freakin sorry ;-;)
> 
> Quick Points:
> 
> 1\. Again, I'm sorry? Also, I think this might be my longest chapter for this story yet, so I hope that makes up for it? XD
> 
> 2\. Current GoT Fics: Her Song of Fire and Ice (SansaxRoose/Stannis/Tywin), A Red King Bowed (Roose/Sansa), and March to My Heartbeat (Stannis/Sansa). Also The (Im)Perfect VERSE, including Deck the Halls and now Count Me Down to Midnight, Be Still, Heart and now Drinks on Me, Beads on You.


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